Madrigal
by Mingsmommy
Summary: AU in honor of JenBachand's wedding. Grissom and Sara in another time and place. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No shirt, no shoes, no service. No, wait...wrong thing. Not mine. Never had 'em, never will and I'm not making any money from this fic. Seriously.

This is AU...like really AU.

This is in honor of the wedding of the lovely JenBachand and her groom, Gataca42...as the countdown to the wedding begins, I hope this offers you a smile or two, Jen. Always remember, the wedding is not nearly as important as the marriage. All the best.

Major shout out to the uber amazing Kristen Elizabeth. She is the world's best cheerleader and beta extraordinaire...this would not have been started much less posted without her help and encouragement.

* * *

The grey cloaked rider sat so completely still, that were it not for the occasional ring of the horse's bridle, one would have thought he was a forest tree converted to an intricate carving either by craftsmanship or enchantment.

The sun had begun its lazy movement from directly overhead towards the west as a wagon rumbled its way around the curve of the forest road and lumbered towards the rider, wood and wheels creaking. Finally moving, the man atop the black horse raised a hand and the dapple grey pulling the wagon slowed to an easy stop.

The young man holding the reins sighed and shook his head. "I would have stopped her in time, m'lord mage."

The rider inclined his head. "It does her good to be reminded who her master is; it would do you well to remember the same, Gregory."

"As if you would let me forget, m'lord," the sandy haired cart driver responded with a cheeky grin.

"Your tongue will earn you a cuffing yet," the rider muttered but without heat or malice as he swung his leg from the saddle and lightly touched down to the earth. Moving with slow deliberation, he led his horse to the rear of the wagon, tying the reins securely to the handle of the drop gate.

"Head on and begin unloading when you get there. I shall make the rest of my way on foot." He fixed his young apprentice with a steely eye as he removed his staff from the back of the wagon. "Do not stop in the village for draught, nor to attempt to speak prettily to the tavern wench." Gregory seemed somewhat crestfallen, having been so easily read, and the mage could not prevent the slight lift at the corner of his mouth. "Straight to the castle and once you've everything in the tower and you've assured Arawn a rub down and some oats, you may do as you will until the morrow."

"Do I have to feed him myself? The beast has the black heart of a demon…he means me ill." The young man's protest was more of habit than heat; true, there was no love lost between the stallion and the mage's young helper, but they had established an uneasy peace over the last few months and it had been over a year since the last bite.

The mage let out with a sound something between a snort of amusement and a sigh of exasperation. "No, you need not feed him yourself…I am sure there is some brave and cunning stable boy who can manage the feat of daring." The stallion nickered softly as his master rubbed his neck, "Arawn, show poor Gregory some mercy and behave yourself." The horse blew out a breath in seeming protest, but the mage produced some dried apple from within his robes and spoke again, "No biting or kicking…unless it is absolutely warranted." The horse, eyes firmly on the sweet fruit as the man moved it up and down seemed to nod his head in agreement, causing the metal of his bridle to jingle merrily.

The mage gave the apple to the beast and then moved to the front of the wagon, extending another, slightly larger portion of dried apple to the cart horse. "And Cigva here…she has worked hard and stayed true on our journey. Make sure she is tended as well."

Cigva extended her muzzle towards the proffered fruit and almost delicately took it between her teeth, removing it from her master's grasp, munching happily as he gave her neck a few affectionate pats.

"I will see to both and the goods, m'lord. And I will see you on the morrow." Gregory flicked the reins and with an impudent salute, the cart, the driver and the two horses slowly rumbled away.

The mage stood at the side of the road for a few minutes, quiet and still. When the cart was out of sight, he breathed in deeply, taking in the forest air, the smell of the trees mingled with damp soil permeating the air. He breathed in again, filling his lungs, closing his eyes. He was happy to be home, but senses were sharpened to detect any changes to the environment. It all smelled of the wood and the earth and life and home. He could neither smell nor see any changes, and as the noise of the wagon faded into the distance and the birds took up their welcoming song, he could hear none. Yet he frowned as he felt an energy that had not been here before.

Change was on the air and he felt himself grow wary.

Breathing in deeply one last time, he reminded himself that change was more constant than the seasons. He raised the hood of his dark grey cloak and taking firm hold of his staff, strode forward on the forest path toward the village and the castle beyond.

He moved with purpose, but not in a particular hurry, slowing when he saw animals or movement in the trees ahead of him. No point in startling a helpless animal or intimidating a dangerous one. He noted the sounds of the forest and its inhabitants as he moved along the path, noting the new growth on the forest floor, the plethora of rabbit and the lack of grouse.

He had gone less than half a league when he heard the voice calling. "My lady! My lady!" Pausing under a tree and leaning on his staff, he watched as the short, pixie of a woman wove her way down the path calling for her missing mistress. He recognized her as one of the Queen's maids, but he could not recall ever having conversed with her. Judith, he believed her name to be.

So distracted was she that when her eyes finally fell upon him, she gave a startled shriek, then immediately slapped a hand over her mouth and dipped into a deep courtesy, babbling as she did so. "My lord mage…I beg your pardon, m'lord. I did not see you there. I did not know you had returned from your journey North." All of this tumbled from the servant as she remained bowed, close to the ground, face firmly turned from him.

Inwardly he sighed. The majority of times he cared not one whit what anyone thought of him, in fact he preferred to keep to himself and often times discouraged attempts at camaraderie and friendship. However, it was difficult at times to deal with the more superstitious people who had more fear than understanding of him and his work. "Rise, Judith."

Wide eyed and pale, the woman did so. "You know my name?"

His shrug was careless. "Have we not resided under the same roof these last ten years, Maid Judith?"

Dumbly the woman nodded.

"And do you not know my name?"

Again she nodded before finding her voice, "Aye."

"Well, there you have it. I know your name, just as you know mine. What I do not know, Maid Judith, is who you are searching for so frantically in the forest and why." He watched as the maid flushed.

"The Queen's niece, my lord." She threw her head back toward the village. "She had not been to the village since she returned to us and had asked to go to market day. I was visiting with an old friend and turned to find her gone." Judith sighed heavily. "I love the child, I do, but she vexes me terribly. She is a lady, not a brigand, and should not be wandering the forest alone."

The mage pursed his mouth and nodded at her assessment. "Oh, I quite agree, the forest road is no place for a lady of the castle on her own…but surely your charge would know that? And I have been walking for quite some time; I believe I would have seen her if she came this way from the village." He used his staff to indicate the direction from which he had come. "I have seen no one save you as I have come along the road. Perhaps she is in the village still or having realized you were separated made her way back to the castle on her own?"

Sagging slightly with relief, she sighed. "Yes. Yes." Hurriedly, she curtsied. "Thank you, m'lord. I shall go find her now."

He inclined his head. "You are most welcome, Maid Judith. I am sure you will find your lady wondering where you have got to. You'd best hurry."

Dropping yet another curtsy, this one somewhat sloppy and distracted, Judith turned and hurried back toward the village.

Smiling slightly, he leaned against the tree and watched her scurry back the way she had come. Though she was walking quickly, with her short stride it was some time before she was out of sight.

When he was sure she was out of range, he quietly said, "She's gone. You may come down now."

A vibrant, albeit startled, laugh floated down from the leafy canopy overhead and after a moment he heard movement above him, descending from branch to branch to the one just above his head. A body swung down from the limb and dropped to the ground in a crouch and then immediately rose.

The young woman standing before him hastily smoothed the green material of her gown over her hips and unrolled her sleeves. The last time he had seen her she had been a gangly girl child, but now, she was indeed a young woman. Tall…all long, lean lines, graceful and languid in her movements, reminding him of a willow tree.

Her brown eyes sparkled in her flushed face and with belated dignity, she dipped into a curtsy. "Lord Grissom."

Smiling, he bowed deeply. "Lady Sara."

She had come to the castle after the death of her father; wide eyed and far too serious for one so young. He had noticed her hiding in the shadowed alcove of the stairs leading up to his tower and said naught to her. He was independent and did not like to be meddled with, but her mother was the Queen's sister and she did no harm; he suspected she simply needed a quiet place to hide. Not everyone enjoyed the bustle and noise of the King's castle and as he was of a like mind, he had left the girl to the shadows of the stone walls and the weapons that hung there.

A careless day at his work table and a leaping spark from the brazier and he had found himself trapped by a line of fire. She had darted into his rooms at his cry and he had urged her to fly for help, instead she had pulled down the heavy drapes separating his work space from his bed chambers smothering some of the flames, then doing the same with his bed curtains, allowing him to move past. She shuttered the window to stop the air from feeding the flames as he doused the rest with the buckets of water the maids had left outside the door that morning.

Sweating and gasping, he was torn between shaking her for her foolishness and lauding her for her bravery. He did neither as he carefully checked her for injuries (blistered fingers and singed cheeks) and she silently allowed his inspections. He cleaned her face and hands and began to apply salve to the burns and wondered if she could speak at all…then it occurred to him he had yet to speak to her. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, Lady. I feel sure you have saved my life this day. I shall tell the King of your bravery."

Fingers, surprisingly long and surprisingly strong for one so young grasped his wrist as he dabbed the medicine along her cheek. "Please don't."

He sat back, frowning. "Surely you want some reward for your cunning…such quick thinking. I fear I would not have made it through the flames…the entire castle could have gone with the tower."

"Please, sir, no," she shook her head with vehemence.

"That is your real wish? That none should know of your courage?" He watched, fascinated as the girl nodded. Still frowning, he resumed his ministrations to her injuries. "How old are you, child?"

"This is my fourteenth summer." Involuntarily, she drew back from his hand when he touched an especially tender spot. At his grunting admonishment, she leaned forward, allowing him to finish the application.

He thought as he ministered to her. The death of her father was cloaked in some mystery and no mention was made of her mother's whereabouts. She had been at the castle nearly a year, had lingered in the shadows around his tower nearly that whole time and this was the first he had heard her speak. She must be a shy child, one who preferred solitude to gaiety. He understood that well enough; he had been such a child himself. He would have hated any attention turned on him as well. He turned the thoughts over in his mind as he placed both cloth and ointment on the table.

He should not have been surprised when she picked the cloth up and began tending his burns with timid care. He found himself frowning again. It had been so long since anyone had shown concern for him. True, he fostered his reputation so people kept their distance; the few that did not fear him respected him, but none seemed interested in his friendship. Yet, this quiet girl…

He winced at the touch from the cloth, but she remained undeterred, cleaning his face in preparation of applying the salve, just as he had done for her. "Your name, child?"

"Sara, m'lord mage." She did not meet his eyes as she stood to better access the skin of his forehead.

"Well, Lady Sara, it seems most stingy of me to not offer some show of gratitude…"

Her voice came out in a rush even as her cool fingers continued their slow and careful work around his hairline. "Teach me."

The mage blinked. "What?"

There was silence for a moment and he watched her gather her words and her argument.

"If you truly wished to show your gratitude to give me a gift that I justly desire, then…teach me." She put down the rag and picked up the salve, her middle finger dipping into the pot in a sure and graceful swipe and began dotting the balm to his face.

"Surely the Queen would arrange for tutors for you?" His brow furrowed, pain forgotten as he puzzled her request out.

"Oh, I am finished with schooling. I have had tutors…I can read, if that is what you ask." She picked up the cloth and rinsed it in the basin. "I have read the ancient works and I have been taught arithmetic and the basics of natural philosophy. But you…" she looked around the room before picking up his hand and carefully cleaning the burn she found there.

"You know more than any book or scroll I have ever read; you know more than anyone I have ever known." For the first time she looked directly into his eyes, her own sparkling with an earnest fire. "Teach me, please."

So the shadow child became his pupil. When he agreed, he felt sure she would tire of the game after just a short while. But she did not. Her mind moved like quicksilver and lightening, asking, seeking, learning, absorbing knowledge, connecting concepts and always hungry for more.

He found himself with a fondness for the child and a grudging admiration for her ceaseless desire to learn. Never had he come across anyone so eager to study no matter what the subject. Telling her one new thing resulted in a dozen or more rapid fire questions. When she would begin her incessant questioning over some new piece of knowledge, he took to calling her a "chittering monkey" with warm exasperation. In truth, her craving to discover more of the world renewed his own joy in scholarly pursuits and his work in the natural philosophies.

But after little more than a year, she was sent as an attendant to her cousin, the Princess, as she married the ruler of the Western lands.

Three summers she had been gone and now she stood before him, no longer the gangly child with fingers too big for her hands and feet too big for her legs and hair an untamable force of wisps and curls. In that girl's stead stood this long, elegant woman with graceful hands, delicate face, hair smoothed and partially plaited. He would not have thought this woman his former student Sara, save for the laughing brown eyes still alight with fire and life.

"Thank you, sir, for not revealing me to Judith." Smiling widely at him, showing the gap in her teeth, she continued, "I fear she would have prevented me from leaving the castle henceforth had she found me here."

He resumed leaning against the trunk of the large tree. "I am afraid it was more curiosity than mercy on my part. I thought you had finally turned into the monkey I believed you to be several years ago. I merely wished to observe the transformation."

Her smile turned slightly wistful. "The mage of the Western kingdom had a monkey that rode upon his shoulder." She lightly touched her own shoulder, as if in memory. "When I first arrived there and saw the creature, I was delighted. I thought to write to you to tell you though I had not become a monkey, I was keeping company with one."

His eyebrows climbed into his forehead. "I recall no mention of a monkey in your letters."

"No. It didn't seem right. After just a day or two I could see…" she shook her head, sadly as she studied the ground. "Though he did much to make us all laugh, he always seemed sad to me. I imagined him lonely, so very far from where he was born, with no home of his own."

"Ah, my Lady Sara, though that tender heart of yours will cause you much pain in this life, I am glad to know it still beats true." He moved from his resting spot, offering her his arm as he continued lightly, "Such a soft heart should not be coupled with such a sharp brain. Many cuts will result."

She turned a full, soft smile on him. "My tender heart and what passes for my brain are both most terribly glad to see you again, Lord Grissom."

He wondered at the tightening in his chest as she laid her hand on his arm.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: As if. Nope. Not mine.

For the lovely JenBachand and her groom, Gataca42…as the countdown to the wedding begins, I hope this offers you a smile or two, Jen.

Major shout out to the uber amazing Kristen Elizabeth. She is the world's best cheerleader and beta extraordinaire…this would not have been started much less posted without her help and encouragement.

* * *

After they had moved along for a bit in comfortable silence, he ventured a look at her. "My lady, may I ask, why you were hiding amongst the tree tops?"

She raised her nose in the air. "I was not hiding."

Conceding his point at his droll look, she allowed, "I was not hiding at first." His forehead wrinkled and she sighed. "I did not set out with the intent to hide. I only thought to enjoy the afternoon in the wood. I had climbed up on the lowest branch to sit. I saw you coming from a distance, though mind, I did not know it was you. Then I heard Judith calling and I was not quite ready to go back yet, so, I climbed a little higher."

Curiously, she turned to him. "How did you know I was in the tree? Did you see me?"

"Not at first; there was no birdsong or squirrel chatter from that tree, but an overabundance from its neighbors." Pursing his lips, he inclined his head. "Something had chased the tree's inhabitants from their home…and the neighbors were protesting."

"Ah! You are very quick, my lord. I would not have been so clever."

"You do yourself an injustice. You say you were not hiding, that was not your intent. Yet, you were clever enough to wear a dress that would blend in with the tree." He quirked an eyebrow at her and she laughed merrily.

They walked along the forest path and exchanged news. She made him smile with her descriptions of her cousin's new home and the people there. He described the new book of tales he had acquired the summer before saying he would loan it to her, smiling when she accepted before he was even finished with the offer. She listened with rapt attention as he described the trading center where he met a mage from the Orient and a scholar from India, how he had passed weeks in their company and they had shared the gifts of their works with him and he with them.

The last letter he had received from her had been in the autumn before his journey North. He had not realized until this moment how much he had missed his contact with her nor had he realized from her letters how much she had matured. The same sharp and hungry mind was there in her rapid fire questions, but there was a more thoughtful quality to her observations, a surety to her answers that had not been present three years prior.

They strolled along the path easily, as old friends; yet, he could not help but notice how the beams of sunlight breaking through the trees seemed to touch her reverently, lighting her hair with gentle fire, illuminating the curves and angles of her face.

As he watched, a butterfly landed on her shoulder.

She stilled as the small creature rested upon her, slowly opening and closing its colorful wings. He could see her lightly inhaling, barely exhaling in an attempt to not disturb the insect. Her quiet calm took on a beauty all its own and he watched her, transfixed, as she

studied the slight movements of the tiny being.

After a moment, it took wing and Sara watched it go with a look of delight. "Such beauty," she breathed.

"Yes," he quietly agreed.

Blushing slightly, she began walking again. "I have heard, m'lord mage, that you have acquired another pupil in my stead."

"Gregory." He gave a put upon sigh. "I would not call him a pupil so much as a helper. His first year did not go well, but he has improved. If he finishes this year out well, I have promised to make him my apprentice."

"He is lucky to have the opportunity." She looked down at her feet as she fiddled with the bell of her sleeve. "Is it all right if I…may I still come to the tower some times?" Absently, she toed the dirt with her slipper.

A slow smile spread upon his face. "I would be honored."

When they came to the village Judith materialized in front of them, breathless and sweating. "Oh, my lord, you found her! My thanks to you."

Biting back a smile, the mage responded easily. "Indeed I did. She had gotten somewhat off the path in the forest and was most anxious to set your mind at rest once she knew you were seeking her."

The maid tutted over the young woman, pulling a stray leaf from her hair. "Well, then back to the keep with you, my lady." She tossed a hurried curtsy at Lord Grissom, "Thank you again, m'lord."

The mage bowed to the women, eyes twinkling. "Maid Judith. Lady Sara."

Sara curtsied deeply, "Lord Grissom." And then gave an unladylike squawk as the maid began pulling her back towards the castle.

It took her a minute to find her feet and follow along, shaking her head ruefully. She turned her head to smile over her shoulder at her former teacher, delighting in his answering, outrageous wink.

He stood in place for a long time, watching the women head along the castle road, enjoying the lazy sway of Sara's gown over her hips.

The throng of the market day crowd had abated somewhat, so he took his time as he moved from stall to stall, examining the food and wares, making the occasional purchase but mainly listening to the sellers and buyers exchanging news and gossip.

He learned the elderly squire to the west had died and his young, pretty wife had not observed the year of mourning, but had married the squire's son from his first marriage within a fortnight of the squire's death and was now heavy with child. He learned the king's huntsman was spending more time in the tavern than the forest and the apple crop would be especially fine this year. The rye and barley were doing well, but the wheat had suffered from the cooler temperatures at planting time. He learned the local shepherds had reported more sets of twins during lambing than any other year and that a pair of swans had nested close to the willows at the lake, near the fishermen's favorite launching spot and several had been chased quite aggressively by the male (the bird had even bitten one); the fishermen had now found a new favorite launching spot.

And he learned what he already knew: the Queen's niece had returned from her cousin's court in the West.

Clearing the market stalls, he spotted a familiar figure leaning against the gate to the castle road. The Captain of the Guard was a stocky man of limited stature with a craggy face and a dark wit, but the mage knew him to be an honest and loyal man. They made surprising but good friends; perhaps it was both their natures to tend toward solitary pursuits that made them such good company for each other. No matter, each found within the other company when it was wanted and quiet support when it was needed.

"Captain James." The mage extended his hand.

The captain in turn extended his hand, "Lord Grissom." They grasped each others forearm in hearty greeting.

"Back from your roguish wanderings, I see." The older man clapped his hand on the mage's shoulder.

"Indeed. I had hoped to be home more than a week ago but the rains kept us from travel on several days." He leaned against his staff to address his friend. "What tidings have you, my friend?"

"There is not much news other than the usual and what you have gathered from the market stalls." He inclined his head towards the tavern. "Still, if you would take a moment to share a draught with an old friend, I will do my best to enlighten you to all the happenings you missed."

The mage smiled. "I would that I could. I am afraid I must check on Gregory's progress in unloading from our trip. However, should you choose to come to the tower when you are next off duty, I might have returned from the northern climes with something you would like better than the draught from the tavern."

Smiling broadly, James countered, "As there is very little in this world I like better than the tavern's offering, I will take that as a challenge and see you this evening."

"After first watch?"

The captain nodded. "Aye."

They clasped forearms again and the mage started up the castle road.

He was hailed by several people as he made his way across the grounds and through the castle to his tower. Keeping his answers brief and his manner distracted, he was able to keep from being detained, but it still took him longer than he had anticipated to reach his tower. Gregory was hanging the last of the cache of dried herbs they had acquired on the journey.

Grissom removed his cloak with an unconscious flourish and hung it on a peg by the door. As he turned he noticed a scroll on his otherwise clear workspace. "What is this?"

Gregory shrugged. "I know not. It was here when I arrived. Something from the King perhaps?" He dusted his hands and turned. "Will that be all then, m'lord?"

Distracted, the mage picked up the scroll. "Yes. I will see you on the morrow." He had several in his library, but most were of old, even ancient works. Most works that came to him these days were in codex form.

The wooden dowels were smooth and highly polished. The material was vellum. He began to unroll the scroll and a smaller, less expensive piece of parchment fell out. He ignored it for a moment as his eyes were caught by the words and art. Cleverly copied and beautifully illuminated, he recognized a work that had been composed some forty years previously, before he had even been born but he had read the words within countless times, nonetheless. A guide to what herbs and plants to use in the healing of common, and some uncommon, ailments stared back at him.

Taking a deep breath, he bent to retrieve the small scrap of parchment and read the carefully scripted words.

_My lord mage,_

_Please accept this humble offering as my gift to you with thanks for all you have taught me and if I may be so bold, in hopes of learning more._

_I am particularly interested in your father's work with Verbascum thapsus. He sees much more use for it than most herbalists._

_Please forgive my presumption as I say, I hope to discuss it with you soon._

_Sara_

He sat on the bench with the scroll on the table and her parchment in his hands as the light began to fade and wondered if there was any cure in his father's work for the tangled feeling in his stomach and the uneven thumping of his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor am I ever likely to. I am making no money from this fic.

A wedding fic for the lovely and kind JenBachand. All the best, dear.

A good beta is better than gold to spend, but a good friend is better than air to breathe. I'm blessed to have both in one person…thanks to Kristen Elizabeth for the beta and so much more.

* * *

Grissom had roused himself enough to light the lamps and one of the wall torches when a page came timidly through the door. "Yes?"

The page bowed and mumbled something unintelligible to his knees.

"What?"

The young boy rose, stuttered and finally spoke. "Hail, m'lord mage." He took a deep, fortifying breath. "His majesty the King summons you to the Great Hall for an audience."

Grissom had been expecting the directive before his wits had been so thoroughly scattered by Lady Sara's gift. "I will gather some items and be there anon."

Evidently relieved he had not been transformed into a forest creature or reduced to a pile of cinders (as the other, older pages had no doubt told him the mage was capable of if vexed) the boy smiled, bowed and beat a hasty retreat down the winding stone steps of the tower.

Muttering to himself about distractions and fanciful notions and not being a young man anymore, he gathered his gifts for the King and Queen, tucking them into the clever pockets sewn into his cloak. He donned the garment and left his tower.

He moved at a steady, but stately pace down the winding stone stairs lit by the flickering flames of torches in their wall sconces. The sounds of music and laughter reached his ears long before he reached the Great Hall.

Servants scurried, passing him in the corridors with distracted bows and nods, intent on carrying their burdens and carrying out their duties. In one darkened alcove there was a whispered and urgent conversation between unseen lovers, no doubt arranging an assignation away from prying eyes.

The smell of sage and wood smoke hung heavily in the air as he approached the Great Hall. He stood silently to the side of the entry, close by the screens, and observed the scene within the Hall. The musicians played a merry tune while conversation and games went on around them. The arrangement had not changed since his journey began; there were still the same tables and benches, the musician's corner, the raised dais for the chairs of the King and Queen, the tapestries along the walls.

The mage tried to simply survey the room, its occupants and activities as was his custom, but his eyes involuntarily sought out the Lady Sara.

She sat on a long bench in the corner furthest from the musicians with two of her young cousins. The youngest was nearly asleep against her side. She was conversing quietly with her middle cousin. She had changed into a surcoat of red and her hair was now covered by a thin veil topped with a circlet. The light from the nearby candles gave a soft glow to her skin and the flames danced in her eyes as she smiled at the young one. As he watched, one of the lords from the lower table approached and spoke to her. She shook her head slightly at whatever the man asked. Frowning, he walked away.

He found himself feeling a sense of satisfaction at the man's retreat but decided to analyze the feeling later. As for now, he had an appearance to make.

None noticed the quiet entrance of the mage through the screens passage until he was in the center of the room, approaching the King's dais. All conversation ceased and the musicians came to a shuddering halt. The hush that rippled over the room was far more noticeable than the loudest of uproars.

As he stood in front of the royal dais, his bow was sweeping and low, made all the more impressive by the silence that had descended on the hall.

"My lord mage. Welcome home." The King's greeting was sincere, if not especially warm.

Grissom knew his work was respected and appreciated by his king though they were not close friends. The King was a smart man, a political man, capable of war, but understanding the greater economic merit of peace. Grissom also knew the ruler appreciated value of his mage; he was wiser in the ways of the world than any other, knew more potions and cures than the doctor or the apothecary, could discern a liar and a thief and provide proof of the discerning. The mage knew the King understood his work was based on the laws of nature, observation and logic but he still sometimes felt the same superstitious undercurrent of fear that others displayed in his presence; well hidden, to be sure, but there nonetheless.

"Thank you, majesty." Grissom rose and then bowed again in the direction of the Queen.

The Queen gave him a warm smile. She fully believed him capable of magic and held him in high affection for it.

After the birth of two girl children and too many heartbreaking stillbirths and infants dead after only a few days, she had come to fear she was too old to ever give her husband an heir. She was three months gone with a pregnancy that had her alternately afraid to leave her bed and bent to the knees continually retching when the mage had come to the castle. After some consultation, she had taken his potions and advice.

Under his care she had delivered and cared for a healthy son. That prince was soon followed by two others; all three robust, lively boys that terrorized the kitchen maids and were, in turn, terrorized by the stable cats.

"Lord Grissom, we are most delighted that you have returned to us," the Queen addressed him genially.

"I thank you, highness. It is good to have returned to familiar ground." His lips moved into a slight smile.

The King shifted in his chair. "You were missed, Grissom. Shall we retire that I may hear of your travels?" The King well knew the mage would not share any tales in a large group and though it was blamed on the mage being a peculiar and secretive sort, the King knew the significance of the knowledge was best imparted to him in private. It only enhanced his power.

Grissom bent slightly. "As you wish, majesty. But first, may I present you and the Queen with a token of my travels?"

With a regal flick of his hand, the King acquiesced and sat back in his chair.

The sudden gasp of those present in the hall let the mage know his sleight of hand had been quick enough to make it look as though the weapon had materialized in his hand. The light from the torches and the oil lamps hit the lustrous blade and caused the jewel encrusted hilt to sparkle with a thousand gleaming fires. He held the extra long dagger carefully, balanced flat on both hands, with the blade pointed towards his own stomach and the hilt towards the King, in the most non threatening posture he could. He wanted none of the royal guard to mistake his intent.

Eagerly, the King sat forward. "Is that a dirk?"

Grissom knew of the King's fascination with weapons, but he had an especially fondness for knives of all kinds. He inclined his head. "Aye, majesty."

The older man motioned the mage forward. Carefully and gracefully, he extended the dirk to the King and then stepped back as the long dagger was examined. The King's appreciation was palpable. "I have never seen one so fine." He traced the ruby in the hilt and studied the rolling scroll work of the filigreed gold. "Lord Grissom, I thank you." His voice was deep and pleased.

"You are most heartily welcome, my liege." Another twist of his hands within his robes and a pool of purple silk overflowed from his arms causing an even larger and much more feminine gasp to rise from the crowd. "For you, my Queen." He stepped forward and extended the material into her trembling fingers.

Her eyes were round and wide as she reverently grasped the silk. "My lord mage..." She swallowed heavily. "There is more than enough here for a surcoat or better. I am overwhelmed at such generosity."

"Majesty, it will pale in comparison to your beauty, but I am most glad it pleases you."

Cheeks tinged a slight pink, she gave him an indulgent smile. "Save your honeyed phrases for those who will believe them. I will take this pretty silk, instead of your pretty words and give you, in turn, my thanks."

Smiling gently at her, he bowed low, pleased his gifts had been had been so well received. As he rose, his gaze landed on the bright eyes of Lady Sara and he felt his heart warm as he remembered her gift to him; he inclined his head towards her and was rewarded with a wide, luminous smile.

"Come m'lord mage." The King rose. "Let us adjourn from this company that you may regale me with news of the Northern lands."

With one last brief glance at the Lady Sara, the mage followed the King from the Hall through the ante-chamber into his private sitting room. A servant followed with two tankards of ale and a board of bread and cheese. The maid rounded the room, lighting the lamps and torches then bowed herself out of the room leaving the monarch and the mage alone.

Sighing, the King shrugged out his mantle and threw himself into a chair. "Sit, Grissom." He indicated the chair nearest his own. "You must be weary. Have a draught, help yourself to the bread."

"My thanks." He sat and began the tale of the points of his journey he knew the King would be most interested in, conveying what he knew of the state of politics, crops and trade in the North. He included news of the port and trading center where he had visited. While the King sipped his ale, Grissom relayed what he had observed and heard through the long months of travel what knowledge would benefit his King.

"And your own business? That was resolved to your satisfaction?" The King's seemingly casual inquiry hid a lively curiosity and a touch of paranoia, the mage knew. He had not shared all of the reasons for his journey; thought the King sponsored his work, the same benefited the kingdom. Grissom had sworn fealty but he retained a measure of independence as part of their agreement.

"It was, majesty." He made a careless gesture. "I was able to see to my family business and acquire some items I had been unable to easily obtain the last few years. I have also acquired several new instruments that will help with my work."

"Good," the King nodded. "Have you anything else to report?"

Grissom sat forward somewhat. "I walked the forest road, through the village to the castle."

The King gave a small laugh and slinging an arm over the back of his chair, questioned, "And what say you?" This was always an enlightening conversation for the monarch. Whether the mage was capable of actual magic or not, there was none with a keener eye and his observations had oft proved most valuable.

"I would suggest you speak to the master of the hunt. The grouse are being over hunted, they will all be gone from the forest if this continues."

"But we must have more meat than the few cattle we have," the King protested.

Lord Grissom spread his hands in a passive gesture. "Has the hunt brought any rabbit back of late?"

The King blinked at the mage and after a moment, shook his head.

"Yet they begin to overrun the wood." He leaned back. "If your majesty will send the master of the hunt to my tower, I will show him a trap I brought back from the North; the design is clever, but easy to construct. I suspect the ease of catching the fowl over the rabbits has influenced the huntsman's choice." He sat back. "Additionally, the shepherds report an increase in lambing this season. Mutton will abound this year while still making up for the flocks' losses of last year. All of the crops save the wheat are doing well; but there may be some concern for bread, so meat will become increasingly important through the autumn and winter. However, failing any pranks by the earth, the year will a bountiful one and the people and kingdom will prosper."

The King studied him quietly for a few minutes. "I will send the master of the hunt to you on the morrow." He gave a slight shake of his head. "I sometimes find myself more concerned with the politics of lands and alliances I forget the most basic need of the people is food. I am glad to have you back for these reminders alone, Grissom."

"Your majesty has weightier matters to consider than the fate of the forest grouse. All can be balanced with a bit of effort and all can be achieved with balance."

The King smiled faintly. "It is just that mindset that I have need of on another matter."

The mage inclined his head. "I am at your service, majesty."

"The Queen's nephew journeyed South some time ago and has not been heard from. I suspect he has met his end either by accident or brigand." His tone of voice was emotionless, but the mage felt himself frowning. "The Queen doubts this, though I fear it is her attachment to the young man that keeps her hopeful; she even refuses to speak of the prospect of his death to her niece, the Lady Sara."

"How may I serve you in this matter?" Grissom hoped his voice did not sound as wary as he felt.

"If, as I suspect, the young lord is dead, his lands become his sister's and that makes for both a boon and a burden to the crown." He carved a hunk of bread from the loaf, stabbing a chunk of cheese with the knife.

"A burden and a boon?" Grissom's brow furrowed thoroughly and he felt a tendril of apprehension curl within his stomach.

The King ripped off a piece of bread and gestured with it. "The Sidle lands are not vast, but they are situated close enough to the southern border to be invaded and taken without men to protect it and a lord to lead those men. Who controls those lands controls a vital stepping stone; whether 'tis a step to peace or to war depends upon the man who holds the land. The ruler of the South has given the lands bordering the Sidle lands to a soldier I have no fondness for. He has been made a Duke, but a new title does not make him a new man. He is a warrior and he is hungry for both land and conflict." He put the bread in his mouth, followed by a bite of the cheese and chewed. "I believe as long as the land is stable, he dare not encroach on our borders. However, if he perceives any weakness he will act, swiftly and ruthlessly."

The mage had an idea where the King's mind had turned and he wondered at the sinking feeling within his chest.

"The stability of the border depends on the stability of the Sidle lands and its lord." Swallowing, the older man continued, "Here to fore, the young lord has resisted either a marriage of alliance for himself or his sister. If he has, in fact, perished, it will be imperative to marry the girl off as expeditiously as possible."

Grissom pursed his lips but replied easily enough. "I am sure there will be no end to candidates for the Lady Sara's hand."

"I am sure of that as well." He buried the knife point in the board. "But I don't just want someone who wants her, it must be someone who can guard her lands and keep them safe. Someone already loyal to the crown, yet, someone that needs be closer, that an alliance of lands and marriage will ensure their constancy. It must be an alliance that allows this lord to see his prosperity is entwined with the kingdom's so I need not worry about him taking the lands and going to war against me along with the Duke."

Keeping his face impassive, Grissom attempted to tamp down his feelings. The political strategy was brilliant, but the thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Lady Sara was not a commodity to be bartered away; the thought of the quiet girl with the quick mind serving at the behest of a man she did not choose, nor maybe even know, sickened him. The King, however, seemed to expect an answer; he gave as little as he could. "A weighty problem."

"Indeed," the King agreed. "Compounded by the fact, my wife, the Queen, has made me promise to look for her nephew. I have given my oath to send riders to his lands and to the south and wait until the winter solstice to declare him lost to us and begin arrangements for the Lady Sara to be wed."

The mage felt the weight that rested on him lighten somewhat. It was not yet midsummer; there was more than half a year for the young lord of Sidle to find his way home. "Most generous of you, my liege."

A hearty and dismissive snort came from the monarch. "Generous? I think not. Foolish, is more to the liking of it. A woman's wiles applied in the right way will bring the most powerful man to his knees, I fear."

Mouth half quirked, the mage wisely withheld a response. The King was well and truly smitten with his wife and cared not who knew, oft joking at his own expense how he was made a slave by a small, quiet woman. He continued, "While we wait out the time, I require your skills in the matter."

Grissom inclined his head. "And how am I to serve my king?"

"First, I would ask that you speak with those that know of the young lord's journey and determine the way for the riders to go. Counsel them as best you can on ways to look and observe. I know none of them have your skill for observation or your wisdom of the world, but do the best you can." He paused, waiting for acceptance.

Which, of course, came immediately. "I will do as you will, majesty."

"For the rest, I require your counsel. While I promised the Queen no arrangement of marriage would be made until the solstice, I will still be considering the choices available, the alliances needed." Grudgingly, the King nodded toward his mage. "I know of no one that reads the hearts of men so well as you. In order to make the most of the accord I will need to know the minds of the lords before us."

There seemed to be something stuck in his throat as he agreed, "Aye, majesty."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nor am I ever likely to. I am making no money from this fic.

A wedding fic for the lovely and kind JenBachand. With love and hopes for all good things.

A good beta is better than gold to spend, but a good friend is better than air to breathe. I'm blessed to have both in one person…thanks to Kristen Elizabeth for the beta and so much more.

* * *

The Great Hall was mostly empty save for a few men still at their cups when Grissom passed through on the way back to his tower. One look at his thunderous face kept any of them from hailing him. His cloak billowed behind him, causing him to appear larger and darker than any mere human.

Anger threatened to overtake him as he strode out of the Hall, through the screens passage and out into the main corridor. His heart felt a heavy, black thing, writhing in his breast, boiling in his stomach. He knew his ire was a many faceted thing...there was anger at the King for using the girl in such a way, anger at the Lady Sara for her insistence on being in his life, anger at himself that he cared more for her than he had remembered, more than he should, more than he wanted. And now, he was under orders from his king to assist in finding her a husband, a master.

"M'lord?" He nearly missed the quiet inquiry from the other end of the darkened corridor. His cloak swirled around him like a raging storm cloud as he turned on his heel when the voice registered.

"Yes? What is the matter?" Though his words were helpful, his voice was a snarl.

"Your pardon, m'lord mage." There was a hasty curtsy, then a whisper of fabric as the speaker moved into the yellow torch light of the closest sconce. "I meant no harm. I am sorry to have disturbed you." The Lady Sara's brow furrowed in confused trepidation.

His shoulders slumped beneath his cloak and the anger left his body, leaving nothing but regret and an unnamed ache. "Lady Sara." He gave a perfunctory bow. "It is I who must ask your pardon. I was distracted and did not mean to sound so rude."

"Is all well with you?" She still looked somewhat befuddled and slightly wary.

"All is well, my lady. I fear my temper has been shortened by weariness. Again, I offer my pardon." He tried to smile but he felt it nothing more than a pained grimace; he only hoped the dim light did not make it more gruesome than it felt, lest he frighten her. "And with you? It is quite late for you to be abroad in the castle."

She chuckled lightly. "My young cousin had made off with one of the pups from the litter by the King's hound. The poor thing was in the prince's chamber crying piteously for its dinner." She made an airy gesture over her shoulder. "I returned the pup to its mother. Since she is the King's favorite, the Cook has allowed the bitch and her pups a basket just inside the kitchens door."

The corner of his mouth just lifted and he shook his head. "Your tender heart causes you trouble yet again, m'lady."

She smiled. "My ears more like. I could not bear the crying; the litter has not been weaned yet and the creature needed its mother."

He was not sure what caused him to ask, perhaps it was the way she said the word "mother," but ask he did. "And you Lady Sara? Do you ever find yourself a creature in need of its mother?"

She blinked at him, then swallowed. "My mother? I..." Her brow furrowed, then cleared and she stood straighter. "I was sent to be fostered by the Queen after my father's death. I have not seen my mother since, though I do occasionally receive letters from her." She tilted her head. "The King and Queen have been most kind to me…I sometimes forget this is not my home."

"Do you ever plan to return to your family home?" He knew not what caused him to continue to make inquiries she was uncomfortable with...perhaps if she wished to be wed, if he knew she wanted a husband and home of her own perhaps he would find it easier to stomach his obligation to the King.

"My brother has sworn I will always have a home and such independence as can be accorded a woman of my limited standing." Her voice was soft and her eyes dropped as she continued, "These last two years, the King has urged him to arrange a marriage for me, but my brother has been true to his word."

"You have no wish to marry? To have a home of your own?"

"I have no desire to enter into a marriage where I become the chattel of a man chosen for me by another man. Should I ever marry, I will that it be because I choose to." Her look was bright and bold as she raised her eyes. "I would marry for love or I will not marry at all."

He assumed his look must have turned to one of dismay for despite the seriousness of he words, the lady laughed. "I know you to be a man of reason and science, m'lord. I am sure love figures not into your world." Her mouth tilted wryly. "On this topic alone I must cease to be your avid pupil." She dipped into an ironic curtsy, the hem of her red over-gown sweeping the floor.

"Love ne'er served to elevate a man's status." His tone was that of the teacher, pointing out the logic of the lesson.

"And an arranged marriage never served a woman **_but _**to elevate her status." She shrugged. "If I care not for status, then I have no need for an arranged marriage."

"You would only marry for love? What if you came to love…" he searched his thoughts for a moment, "…a member of the King's guard? Or a simple farmer? You would wish to marry that man instead of one of your own station in life?"

"I would be marrying the man, not his social station. Were I to be fortunate enough to wed my love, this would matter not." Her eyes seemed especially intense, catching the dancing flames of the torch light. For a moment he thought he saw a glimmer of something he could not put name to in her gaze, but then she dropped her eyes and the thought fled along with the fleeting glimpse.

The mage was unsure if he felt apprehension that he might be the one charged with crushing the girl's dreams or if he felt admiration that such a young woman could feel so completely independent and care naught for the opinions of others.

Seemingly unaware of the inner sway of the mage's thoughts, Sara continued. "Of course, I know I am most fortunate that my brother has sworn that, should I marry, it will be as I will it. For that I am most grateful."

He cleared his throat, hoping fervently that young Lord Sidle was indeed alive and well, having simply been waylaid on his journey South. "Your brother must be extraordinarily fond of you."

The smile she turned on him had a touch of sadness to it. "My brother knows me well and why I feel as I do. We have always been close and that has extended through our father's death and our separation."

Though he knew the answer, he ventured the question anyway. "Where is your brother now?"

"He rode from our lands into the South sometime ago." Her brow furrowed. "He has never been good about sending letters, especially as he travels. I hope to have news of him soon. I would…"

Her words were interrupted by a heavy footstep in the corridor and the jangle of mail moving in concert with the step. "My lady Sara." The captain of the guard swept into a low bow.

"Captain James." The lady smiled warmly at the older man.

He made a disapproving noise. "You should know better than to waste such time with this fellow. Rumor has it he will turn anyone into a toad who dares look him in the eye."

The mage snorted, but Sara chuckled in delight. "Really, Captain? I had last heard one who was so brave as to gaze fully on his countenance would find themselves part of the morning mist, doomed to float in the air for all time."

The Captain raised a craggy eyebrow. "I would much rather be a toad than to have to arise before the sun to become morning mist."

Grissom gave a long suffering sigh. "If either enchantment were within my power, you would find yourselves amphibian and ether before this night is through."

The captain rolled his eyes dramatically at Sara, causing her to laugh again. "I see your travels have robbed you of your wit, mage. No matter though, as I do not require your wit, only the cask you spoke of."

"Yet, you make me regret the promise." His words were austere but both of his companions could see the laughter in his eyes.

"But promise you did." He turned to the young woman. "May I escort you to your chambers, lady?"

"Oh, no, Captain. There is no need." She curtsied to first the mage, then the captain. "I will wish you both a good evening. I will see you on the morrow."

The mage watched her as she moved through the pools of light provided by the torches until she turned into the screens passage, to go back through the Great Hall to the royal family's chambers.

He turned to find the captain staring at him with a knowing smile upon his weathered face. He narrowed his eyes at his friend, only to see the smile grow wider before the older man indicated they should proceed to the mage's tower.

* * *

The Captain of the Guard pronounced the contents of the cask from the North finer by far than the village tavern's fare and proceeded to inform the mage of all the happenings in his many months absence.

The news of the village and the castle were, as James had predicted, no more than Grissom had learned listening to the vendors in the market and the servants outside the Hall. But James was oft able to tell him the stories behind the gossip; some made him shake his head, others made him laugh aloud.

As Grissom filled his tankard again, James told him what he already knew. "The King has commanded four riders from the garrison to ride South in search of the Lady Sara's brother."

Solemnly, the mage placed the tankard on the table in front of his friend. "Aye."

"I hope we find the boy alive; though with each passing day it looks less likely." He took a large drink of ale, looking at his friend over the top of his cup. "The lady was sore disappointed to find you yet gone when she arrived home."

Carefully masking his expression, the mage took a draught from his own flask before answering. "She is still an eager pupil."

A smirk came over the captain's face. "Indeed, m'lord mage. Indeed." Eyeing the rich amber ale, the captain's expression sobered. "I fear for the girl's future happiness if her brother has come to harm."

Sighing, the mage agreed and they clinked their cups in silent toast to the health of the lord of the Sidle lands.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: As if. Nope. Not mine.

In honor of JenBachand's Renaissance wedding. May the day be beautiful and all the days after filled with love.

Thanks to my beta and friend Kristen Elizabeth. She is always helping me improve and I am grateful.

* * *

They drank and talked until the cask was empty; then the captain bid Grissom good night and wove his way down the tower steps, while the mage staggered to his own bed.

The next morning he woke to find he had not shuttered the windows, nor had he drawn the draperies around his bed. The rising sun filled the room with a golden glow, and one particularly impudent sunbeam danced across his bearded face, eliciting a groan of protest against the coming of such a sunny and relentless morn.

At first, he tried to block the day by covering his face with a pillow, but he found that to be quite hot and the smell of his own breath unutterably foul. Grumbling, he threw off his bedcovers and after he had rinsed his mouth, went to find some bread to break his fast.

After a visit to the bustling kitchens and assurance from the cook that food stuffs would again be brought regularly to his tower now that he had returned, he took a hunk of bread, a few early carrots and a dried fig and walked into the open air.

Now that he was awake and abroad, he felt no ill effects of the night previous' drink. Though he had been cursing the sun less than an hour before, he now found himself savoring the early morning light. The castle keep was stirring into life and the fresh air was permeated with the smell of hay and the wildflowers blooming just over the castle walls.

"M'lord mage." The master gardener was headed towards the kitchens with a basket of early vegetables. "Welcome home!"

Grissom smiled. "Thank you, Master David. I am glad to be home."

The quiet man returned the smile. "I did as you suggested in the autumn with the garlic and pepper plantings and we have not had near the trouble with vermin in the garden this spring. Thank you."

"Ah! I am glad the planning worked."

"Indeed it did!" The gardener was most enthused on the subject. "I planted the herbs you requested; they appear to be doing well and all will be yours at harvest."

Pleased, Grissom nodded. "Thank you, my friend. For my part, I have brought seed back from the North. New varieties for you to try when you are ready for your autumn plantings and a few for next spring, as well."

David beamed. "Thank you, m'lord. I am eager to try them." He adjusted the basket in his arms. "I am busy this week with the vegetables. May I visit you a few days hence?"

Nodding his acquiescence, the mage parted company with the gardener, strolling leisurely towards the stables, stopping to exchange pleasantries with the few who wished to engage him. Once at the stable, he found Arwan and Cigva; he gave them each one of the carrots from the kitchens and several pats as he eyed them. They were in their accustomed stalls, side by side as usual. They both looked rested and content and he surmised that Gregory had kept his promise to ensure their comfort the day before.

Well pleased his animals were comfortable and his helper obedient, he made his way back to the castle and his tower.

He was not halfway up the winding stairs when he heard the laughter of a lady coming from his rooms. He frowned; he knew that laugh. What was the lady Sara doing in his tower and what (or who) was making her laugh?

As he rounded the last curve of the stairway and stepped into the hallway leading into his rooms, he caught sight of Gregory, dressed in one of the mage's robe with one of the battleaxes from the tower wall resting in the crook of his arm as he danced it in a mad circle around the work table, humming a merry tune.

The lady was resting in the window seat seemingly delighted by the young fool's antics. "Do you dance with your one true love, Master Gregory?"

"Nay, m'lady." He gave a little skip and swept the axe from one arm to the other. "My one true love is held by a fierce dragon in a tower and I wait for the beast to sleep that I may rescue my lady." He and the axe twirled in a circle. "This is but a wench in need of my mercy."

Grissom heard the laugh within the lady's voice as she questioned, "In need of your mercy?"

"I show her mercy by giving her this dance." The young man heaved an overly piteous sigh. "You see, she bears unrequited love for me. 'Tis sad, truly, for though she is not much to look at her wit is quite sharp."

"Gregory." Though the mage's voice was not loud, the tone of it was like a leather whip cracking the air.

Startled and fumbling, the upper half of Gregory's body stopped but his lower half moved one more step and the axe fell with a clanging clatter to the floor but not before the solid handle landed heavily on Gregory's toe causing a rather high pitched yowl of pain to erupt from the young man.

Lady Sara looked torn between concern and the desire to laugh. She did not, however, look as though she were frightened by the mage's sudden entrance as his assistant did.

"M'lord!" He tried to bow while hopping on his uninjured foot and ended up flat on his back on the floor.

Sara did laugh then and despite his aggravation, Grissom felt his lips twitch against an answering smile which he quickly quashed. "Would you care to explain yourself, Gregory?"

"M'lord mage, I…" he struggled to right himself and only managed to get his foot caught in a fold of the robe and as he began to stand, he pitched forward onto his face.

Sara was now in full blown gales and the mage decided no matter what mischief the boy had been up to, the sound of her laughter was worth any damage.

Sighing heavily, the mage extended a hand to help his young assistant from the floor. "Gregory?"

The young man began talking in earnest, his explanation tumbling out in words, end over end. "Beg pardon, Lord Grissom. I had met the lady when she arrived here and we began to converse and somehow the topic of dancing came up." He shrugged, helpless to his own wit. "I was merely showing her the dance I had seen at the fair in the North. I meant no harm." He looked at his master's quirked eyebrow as he studied his robe on Gregory's person and hastily added, "Nor any disrespect."

The mage simply continued to stare at his helper with an expression on his face that was a marriage of bemused disbelief and exasperation. As Gregory fidgeted under the mage's eye, the silence seemed to become a fourth presence in the room, growing larger by the second. Finally, Grissom spoke. "Gregory, do you not think the axe would be safer put back in its place?"

Scrambling to do as the mage suggested, the young man began babbling, "Oh! Yes. Aye. 'Twould be dangerous to leave such as this laying about. Anyone could get hurt."

"I actually meant safer for the axe." Grissom's tone was slow and droll. Gregory flushed and Sara chortled several times into her sleeve, her eyes bright and shining over rosy cheeks. He could not help the gentle upward tug of his own lips in response. But then he sighed again. "Go find the maids for the tower; assure they know we have returned. Arrange for water for washing, wood for the fire and oil for the lamps."

Gregory bowed. "Aye, m'lord." Then he turned to the lady. "Twas a privilege to finally meet you, m'lady. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon." His bow to her was sweeping and low, full of gallantry and unexpected grace.

"Master Gregory, I took much pleasure in making your acquaintance, as well. I would hear more of your adventures when next we meet." Her voice was bright and light as she addressed the mage's helper. Grissom frowned slightly at the easy banter between the two.

The sandy haired youth stood, flashing his irrepressible grin. "Then I shall make it so. Until then." He nodded to her, turned on his heel smartly and departed the room.

There was silence between the remaining two occupants of the room as they waited for Gregory to move from hearing range. After a few minutes, Sara gave a little laugh. "Wherever did you find him? He is a delightful lad." She seated herself at the table bench, absently rearranging the items resting on the wood…the candle, the two empty tankards from the night before, a pestle left there for a reason he could not recall.

The mage felt himself relax slightly at her casual tone; she obviously thought of his assistant as someone much younger and not her own peer. He sternly reminded himself of his duty to his king. Still, a voice inside him argued, it would be easier to know he had matched her to a husband well if he knew she had no fondness for another man.

"The boy has a keen mind and is quick to learn. I just fear his fondness for frivolity will impede his work; though he has settled some since he first came here." He noted her questioning look. "Gregory is the child of an old tutor of mine, himself the youngest son of a lord. Too high a station for farming, ill suited to being a merchant, yet no hope of lands or inheritance."

"Is that how you came to your profession?" The question was a bold one; none dared asked him of his life before this one. Though her question was daring, she chose not to meet his eyes, instead she watched her own hands as she rolled the pestle in an arc across the plank of the table.

"My title is actually not an honorary. I am, in fact, a lord of the North." She glanced up quickly, then back down just as quickly. The pestle arced back across the table, the smooth, pale marble a startling contrast against the dark wood. "My father was the second son of a minor lord with very minor lands in the North. My uncle died without heirs. As my father was already dead, that left the lordship and the lands to me. I have a bit of land and a house…either a large cottage or a small manse, depending on your view. There is not much more to it than that. Well, that and the legacy of my father's work." He watched the pestle wobble through a third roll. "I must cry your pardon for being so remiss." At this, she looked up. "I neglected to thank you last night. The scroll is quite beautiful."

Shyly, she smiled, blushing slightly. "Twas a serendipitous find. I am delighted if it pleased you."

He felt his heart lurch at the sight of her flushed and shy countenance. His voice was deep and sincere. "It is the most lovely, thoughtful gift I have ever received. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, lady."

The blush grew brighter, hotter. "You are most heartily welcome, m'lord. It is but a trifle compared with all you have given me. It is I who thanks you."

Again, silence descended between them. Slightly awkward but shot through with hopefulness, as well.

The pestle began rolling across the table again.

The mage cleared his throat. "You said you desired discussion of Verbascum thapsus?"

Gratefully, she smiled up at him as he seated himself on the bench across from her. "Yes, I was surprised at his commendation for mullein to be inhaled as smoke as well as consumed and used for topical purposes. Is the form of delivery critical to the treatment?"

"Verbascum thapsus has so many uses the preparation is the main difference in its application."

Soon the minutes passed into a whole morning. She left, reluctantly he could see, when the master of hunt came to call, but propriety bid she do so. When she was gone, the mage demonstrated the traps as he and the master hunter discussed the best method for construction and what materials would be most advantageous.

At length, the huntsman confessed he had been neglecting his duties in favor of the tavern since his wife and babe had died during childbirth; he found no rest at home and could only find peace at the bottom of a flagon. Grissom nodded and gave the man a dried sleeping powder to be mixed with his evening drink. Sternly, he cautioned against excess in drink with or without the potion. Shamefaced, the huntsman nodded, begged his pardon and clutching the small packet of herbs, he vowed to do better. "M'lord mage," he shook his head as if to clear it. "I know I could have disappointed the king and lost my position had I gone much longer. I thank you for listening to me, for helping me." He swallowed. "If ever I can do a service for you, you have but to ask." He bowed before shuffling from the tower room.

The next day proved remarkably similar. He returned from his morning walk to find the lady Sara and Gregory conversing, with his assistant again capering around the room like a buffoon making the young woman laugh. Once Gregory had again been dispatched on his errands, the two settled into conversation. They discussed different ways of preparing a sleeping draught until riders came in the early afternoon to discuss their route with the mage.

Lady Sara slipped quietly away as Grissom prepared to tell them things to look for, how to hunt for a man live or dead, what questions to ask of the people they met along the way. As her slender form slipped out of his rooms and down the stairs, he bent his powerful mind to imparting as much knowledge as possible to the men. He told himself not to invest too much hope in the location of young Sidle, but his heart ignored the admonition and hoped.

How it hoped.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: As if. Nope. Not mine.

In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand's Renaissance wedding.

I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth. For her and so many other things, I am blessed.

* * *

And so it went. Minutes passed into days. Days became weeks. Weeks became a month. Midsummer came and went. Time passed, but it passed in mostly the same manner. Mornings were spent in his tower with the lady Sara…sometimes in lively discussion, others quietly working or reading. She would slip away with a quiet word or a smile in the afternoon. He saw her every evening in the Great Hall, but he felt they were different people then. He would nod, she would curtsy if standing, incline her head if seated and he would count the hours until the morning when he could hear her voice, see her smile again.

He knew well that he, who was rumored to be able to perform enchantments, was himself, enchanted by the slender young woman.

On days when he feared he would have to not only watch her wed, but help to choose her husband, he felt his heart harden and wished she had never come. He cursed her sparkling eyes and hungry mind; her husky voice and lovely smile. He cursed himself for thinking what those long fingers might feel like running through his hair, for wondering how soft and warm her lips might be. Most of all, he cursed himself for having lived too long alone, for knowing little of social graces or political maneuvering and even less of women. He only had his work, his duty and honor.

On those days, he was as foul as she was fair, he knew. He would snarl that Sara and Gregory had nothing better to do than fill the air with their chatter. He would grimace and growl and speak nary a word. Occasionally, he would send her away from the tower earlier than her accustomed leaving time, on the pretext of work to be done, and then spend the rest of the day staring morosely at the empty bench under the window he had come to think of as "her" place.

On days when he forgot his duties to king and kingdom, forgot her plight and station in life, he vacillated between being completely male, making plans to woo her, sure he could and dizzy with the very idea that he could even try to win the heart of one so young and beautiful. He charmed her with words and smiles, made her laugh with jests of words, searched for more to teach her to keep her leaping brain occupied. He cherished her smiles, contemplated her blushes and wondered at her feelings and what she would look like asleep in his bed.

But the worst days were those when the King commanded an audience when they might counsel, amongst other matters, a potential husband for the Lady Sara. The mage was no fool; he well knew the longer the time went without word of the young lord, the less likely it was he lived. The King seemed already convinced the boy was dead and impatient with himself for having made a bargain with the Queen that bade him wait so long to arrange for the marriage of the lady to whatever lord proved most politically valuable. Those were the days honor rested like lead upon the mage's shoulders, when duty tasted like dust in his mouth. There was no ill humor then, no anger…just a deep and heavy sadness that made it difficult to breathe.

Through it all, the lady remained a constant. She bore his ill moods quietly, oft times attempting to soothe him, though that mostly caused his already ill humor to blacken. On days when all things seemed possible, she laughed with him, learned from him, spoke kindly to him (even affectionately, his eager heart hoped).

She again took up the small jobs he had allowed her as his pupil when she was a mere slip of a girl. Even now, he could not believe he had taught and trusted one so young, but his faith had never been misplaced. She was careful and thoughtful, seeming to understand the purpose of many of the tasks without having them explained. With quiet surety, she began speaking to Gregory as she explained the tasks, step by careful step. Never losing patience with his puppy-like exuberance she gently calmed and corrected him, slowly guiding him through each process. The mage could not help the swell of pride as he surreptitiously watched her teach his young assistant. She never asked his permission to show Gregory the work, and he never commented on her making an apprentice of his assistant, but it worked well as she seemed to have a patience for the young man he himself lacked.

The apple harvest was in full momentum when the unlikely trio took to the forest one morning to search for wild plants to be dried for later use. The day was cooler than the summer days had been, the scent of fruit was in the air and the dappled sunlight played gently through the trees, pervading the day with quiet contentment and peace. The mage listened with wonder and pride as the Lady Sara explained to Gregory the benefits of ginger ingestion. "It helps babies that suffer from the colic and those with difficulty in digestion. It also aids in digestion for adults."

The helper's eyes widened as he made the connection. "That's why the honeyed ginger is passed round the table."

"Aye; it is more than just a sweet. Of course, one wouldn't give a babe solid ginger, even honeyed. What say you to be the best way of administering to a babe unable yet to chew?" She bent and picked a clover flower, bringing it to her nose, then idly tucking it behind her ear, seemingly unaware of Lord Grissom's attention to her actions.

"Perhaps," Gregory slowly began, "a tincture or tisane?"

Smiling, the lady nodded. "Either of those would work very well. And it can also be given with a bit of wine, though it should be well…"

Her voice was cut off by the sound of a horse being hard ridden along the forest road. Wide eyed, she turned toward the oncoming horse and rider. The horseman was bent low over the neck of the animal and both rider and beast were sweating and panting. He appeared not to see the three figures standing at the edge of the road as they galloped past, the horse hooves pounding out thunder on the road as the rider urged him on at an ever quickening pace.

Silently, the three watched the rider pass out of sight.

Lord Grissom recognized the rider. He had been one sent in search of Lord Sidle.

Though they had never discussed the riders in his rooms that day, it was clear from her pallor Lady Sara also recognized the rider and knew of his mission.

"My lady?" He came close to her, lest she faint. "Are you unwell, my lady?"

She turned round, anxious eyes on him. "I am well, m'lord. Let us back to the castle posthaste and hear what news the rider brings."

Gregory was looking at them both with curiosity, oblivious that the rider might as well have been fate itself flying through the quiet forest.

In a gesture too familiar for propriety, but meant only to comfort, the mage briefly rested a large hand on the lady's shoulder. Quietly he spoke, "We will make haste, m'lady." Ordinary words, but they were fraught with feeling of every thing left unsaid between the two of them.

Her lips trembled in a ghost of a smile that he feared would melt into tears. Instead, she turned and headed down the road as fast as her feet and gown would allow.

As they had been in the very heart of the forest, the rider had been at the castle at least half of an hour or longer by the time they reached the gate. All of those they passed along the way wore solemn looks and refused to meet the eye of Lady Sara. He could feel her agitation grow with every step until they reached the Great Hall and the sound of weeping could clearly be heard in the chamber beyond.

Robbed of the strength to stand, the lady sank onto one of the benches, wilting as a paper in fire. The mage crouched in front of her and grasped both of her hands in his, immediately noting how cold they were. Her breathing was shallow, her gaze unfocused. He began rubbing her hands and fingers, attempting to warm them, hoping to offer some comfort no matter how small. "Lady Sara?" His voice was grave and gravelly, nearly a whisper, but her eyes rose to meet his. The pain and sadness he saw there felt like a blow to the center of his chest. "Should I fetch wine for you?"

Her lips were nearly as pale as her face and she shook her head. "My…" she cleared her throat. "I need to go to my aunt."

At that moment, the King came through from his chambers. "Lady Sara." His voice was soft and gentle as he approached them. "I was just going to send for you." He placed a hand against her cheek in awkward, but obviously sincere affection.

Her eyes swam with unshed tears. "You have news of my brother, Uncle?"

His look was one of grief and regret both for the news and having to deliver it. "I am sorry, child. He is lost to us. His body was found in the South. It appears he fell into a ravine; an accident most likely, as all of his papers and possessions were with him."

She blinked once and a tear overflowed the rim of her eye. Her lip trembled for a moment, but then she stood. "Thank you for searching for him, my liege." She made to dip into a curtsy, but the King placed his hands on her upper arms and brought her close in a comforting embrace.

The mage heard what could have been a stifled sob from the young woman as she rested for a moment in her kinsman's arms. Then she straightened and swallowed. "May I see the Queen, majesty?"

"Of course, Sara. Comfort each other as best you can."

"Thank you, majesty."

The monarch, the mage and his assistant all watched the young woman as she crossed the Great Hall and into the chambers beyond, her back straight, her step measured.

When she was out of sight, the King turned to Lord Grissom, his face weary and solemn. "We must see the girl wed before winter is upon us, m'lord mage."

The pain of watching the lady's grief faded under this new weight and fear become reality. The mage protested immediately. "Majesty, the lady just learned of her brother's death…"

"And as she learned of it, so do others. Her brother's lands have stood without their lord for many months. Their defenses have weakened." His voice was resolute, but aggrieved, nonetheless. "I feel for the girl's pain, and I wish her to be happy, but the security of this land and the well being of its people have more value than the cares of one young woman." He glanced toward his chambers where a fresh round of weeping could be heard. He sighed. "Betrothed within a fortnight, married by the equinox. After the evening meal, we will meet and decide the likeliest candidates."

"Aye, majesty." Gritting his teeth, the mage bowed as the King turned and quit the room.


	7. Chapter 7

And so it went

Disclaimer: As if. Nope. Not mine.

In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand's Renaissance wedding.

I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth. For her and so many other things, I am blessed.

* * *

After midnight had come and gone, as Grissom made his weary way back to his tower, he found himself gritting his teeth again. Few torches were lit at this time of night; only the barest number glowed against the overwhelming darkness. But the mage needed no light to find his way. He felt better in the dark, where he could hope against his senses that he was in the midst of a dream.

His head pounded and his eyes burned. There was no delay to be found within the King's heart.

In the previous months, the King's advisers had made quiet and cautious inquiry of several lords of his own realm and minor princes of neighboring lands to see who had interest in a marriage to the Queen's niece, should a dowry of land be available. Unsurprisingly, all had avowed themselves interested.

Several contenders were immediately rejected; either their lands were too far a field from the Sidle lands for the lord in question to be able to protect them. One of the princelings was rejected for being too ambitious, another for being too weak. One suitable lord was rejected due to his advanced age, putting into doubt his ability to defend and as the king so delicately put it, "He could very well drop dead on his wedding night and we'd be here all over again."

Grissom had winced at the crassness of the idea, but it was the thought of the lady being forced to the marriage bed at the pleasure of whatever lord commanded the most value to the king that caused him real pain. His heart was sore, his mind heavy.

The King had, in the end, narrowed his choices to two. A princeling just over the border of the neighboring lands and a lord within a day's ride. The prince was well known and well liked, commanded his army well enough, but was not known to be of particular intellect or wit. The Lord Vincent was well heeled, rich in land and men. His young wife had met a tragic end some months previous. Though it was said to have been an accident, there were few details and any who knew about it would say little of it and then only with eyes averted.

Could the lady be happy with either of these men? His heart rejected the idea. How could either make her happy when they knew her not? Would they take the time to know her? Learn what made her smile? Bring her books for presents instead of trinkets? Or would they merely bed and breed her? Use her to manage their home, warm their bed, bear their sons?

Wearily, he started up the stone steps to the tower.

Just lately he had convinced himself if her brother were to be found, he would attempt to woo her. He knew he was too old for her, but he could not bear the thought of another man holding her in his arms. Now, he had no choice. He must bear it without having ever had the chance to win her heart…without ever letting her see into his own heart.

As he approached the alcove on his ascent, he was so solidly wrapped up in his own thoughts that he nearly missed the slight scratch of fabric against stone. It only registered in his cluttered brain as soon he was upon it.

"Who goes there?" His voice was not raised over its normal conversational level, but in the quiet of the night with no one abroad it sounded, even to him, unnaturally loud.

"Tis I, m'lord." Lady Sara stepped out of the darkness and into the faint spill of torchlight from the sconce at the next curve of the tower wall.

His stomach dipped. It seemed some sort of magic that he should be so consumed with the idea of her loss that he had conjured her here in his tower, in the alcove where she had first come to his notice.

"My lady." Though he was unspeakably glad to be in her presence again, he felt the wrench of the night's work rending his heart within him. "You should not be abroad so late."

The light was faint and he struggled to see her well. He sensed more than saw the helpless and careless gesture she made in response to his words. "I did not realize it was so late." Her tone was flat and slightly scratchy, her day of tears evident in her voice.

Silently, he cursed himself for a selfish cur. He had been so caught up in his own pain at the thought of her marriage he had forgotten her grief. He gentled his voice. "Is there some way I can be of service to you, lady?"

Had she been awaiting him? The thought held such tantalizing and forbidden possibilities his pulse increased with alarming rapidity.

She made a sound, something that he supposed was meant to be a laugh, but was actually a twisted, mirthless thing. "I did not deliberately seek the tower out. I went for a walk after the Queen retired for the evening." He heard her draw in a shaking breath. "I found myself here where I spent so much of my first year in this place. I think it felt only natural to come back here now that I find myself grieving again."

He remembered his own grief when his mother died; how the pain seemed not just a part of him, but that he was the pain, as sharp and burning as a flaming sword. The idea of her feeling such anguish made the center of his chest ache. He swallowed against the thickness in his throat. "Lady Sara, I…" What could he say to ease her sorrow? Was there word that was balm for mourning? What turn of phrase had he that could possibly be a solace for her pain and unhappiness? What comfort was there any where for her woe?

The sound of a small and piteous sniffle was his undoing. He ceased to think and simply did what propriety and his own wary heart forbade: he pulled her into his arms.

Startled, she stiffened for a moment, but in the space of a breath she relaxed against him, melting into his embrace. He felt her body shaking with her sobs, but she released them silently into his neck. Her body felt slight against his chest, his arms encircled her easily, holding her close for comfort, but not so tightly that she should feel frightened or trapped.

He wanted only to soothe her, to help ease her pain, but even as he reminded himself of this, he breathed in the scent of lavender from her hair, felt the warmth of her body seeping into his through his tunic. When her tears subsided and she made to step back, it was difficult to let her go.

"I beg your pardon, m'lord mage," she whispered.

He did not know if she could see it, but he shook his head impatiently. "You have nothing to ask pardon for. I am aggrieved there is so little I can do to offer you solace from your heartache."

Briefly, he saw the flash of her wide smile in the darkness. "You have always been so kind to me. I would that…" She stopped and turned from him, looking out the alcove's window into the dark and moonless night. "I wrote to my brother of you when first I came to be fostered by the Queen. He told me to not make myself a nuisance, but he knew how much I longed to learn. It was his suggestion I should come to the tower. He thought perhaps I might be able to see things, learn things just from being near you."

She rested her forehead against the cool stone along the window's edge. "When you agreed to teach me, he was overjoyed. He knew what a boon and a blessing it was to me." Reaching up to brush away a tear, she continued. "From my youngest days, he was always my protector, my champion. He wanted nothing more than I should find happiness."

His heart was softened by her words and he spoke before thinking, "I would that I had known him."

Another smile, this one smaller and softer, touched her lips. "That you two should have met was my fondest wish." Again, the smile faded. "It was not to be."

He wanted to take her into his arms again, but he dare not. "My lady, how can I help you? Is there anything…"

She held up a staying hand. "I thank you, my lord. Sadly, I think there is naught that can be done for me. I know not what is to become of me now, but all must be faced in time." Moving lightly, she slid past him towards the stairs. "I will wish you a good night." Without waiting for an answer, she slipped down the stairs, into the darkness and away.

* * *

Not surprisingly, in the days following the news of the young lord Sidle's untimely end the lady did not come to the tower. Gregory was quite subdued in her absence, doing his chores as well as the duties Lady Sara had assumed with a solemn and quiet air.

After the first night, the Queen appeared again in the evenings in the Great Hall, but her niece was absent. Grissom tried not to notice how disappointed he was when every night the alcove along the tower steps was empty.

The truth was, Grissom vacillated between missing her presence and the relief of not having to face her with a better knowledge of her ultimate fate than she possessed. Her absence from his rooms during the days and the Hall at night was a wrench, but he told himself to acclimate himself to being without her, and berated himself for ever allowing himself to feel more for her. She would marry and leave the castle. All of his learning, his knowledge and cunning was useless against that inevitability.

He told himself she would eventually be happy; whoever the King chose for her would be more suitable than he. He was too old, too wrapped up in his work, too inclined to forget everything around him when experimenting with the elements of natural philosophy to have a young wife. His means would not be enough to provide her with all she deserved, with all of the things a lady so fine should have. Anger that he should ever have considered any possibility of a life with her became his constant companion.

His mood was constantly black; the only form that altered was the reason. Sometimes it was from his self-loathing and anger and others simply from missing her and sorrow at knowing she was somewhere in the castle wrapped in pain and grief and he could do naught to help.

And then one morning, she was in his rooms in the tower when he returned from his walk. To be sure, her countenance was somber and Gregory was not indulging in his usual buffoonery but rather speaking quietly with her as they performed the morning's tasks together.

The mage stood at the entrance and watched her; the graceful movement of her hands as she raised a vial, the unconscious downturn of her mouth as she concentrated on a measure. His heart stuttered and his stomach dipped at the sight of her. She was dressed in a dark surcoat as a depiction of her mourning and it provided an unexpected foil for her fair skin. Her hair, as was her custom during the days, was uncovered but gathered loosely at her neck and plaited down her back, tied with a black ribbon.

She caught sight of him and a soft, slight smile touched her lips. He knew not logic and reason in that moment. He knew only love.

"Lord Gilbert." She dipped and rose in a casual curtsy without putting the vial and pitcher in her hands down.

"Lady Sara." He was robbed of words, for what was there to say? It was a joy to be in her presence again, yet grief and loss snapped at the heels of that joy. Still, he was unable to do anything other than say what was foremost in his mind. "I am glad to see you again. We have missed you these last days."

Her smile was a shade softer as she replied, "And I have missed you."

It was enough to make him dizzy, make him forget the impediments that loomed between them and make him glad to be within her sight and have her within his. It was with a smile of his own that he came to the work table, perhaps standing a shade closer than he had in the past, perhaps not quite as focused on the codex in front of him. Still, comfortable familiarity pervaded the air and he reveled in it. To be sure, they were more solemn than in times past and Gregory was in no hurry to quit the room, but still he felt the peace of her presence and allowed himself the folly of being happy in those moments.

Later, he would look back on that quiet morning as the last day before everything changed forever.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: As if. Nope. Not mine.

In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand's Renaissance wedding.

I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth.

* * *

The King was not in the Great Hall that night. When the mage arrived, he was led straight from the Hall into the King's chambers where he found him pacing furiously.

Without preamble, he snarled, "The bastard princeling has betrothed himself to the daughter of the Duke." He paused in his pacing and his fist came down hard on the table, rattling the tankards making the ale within each leap over the rims and splash back down. "I have been out flanked! Out maneuvered!" He stood with both fists braced on the table and his rage made him appear larger than normal. "It will not stand! I will not have it."

"Majesty..."

The King held a heavily ringed hand up. "The question is decided. A company of soldiers leaves at first light to protect the border. Lord Vincent has been sent for; the marriage will take place ten days hence."

Grissom's heart clenched in anguish; his lips were stiff as he inquired. "How may I serve, majesty?"

"A gathering of signs and portents to convince the Queen the marriage will be happy." He made a careless gesture, "Something to ease her mind. Also, Vincent's man is here. I want you to speak with him, see what you can discover of his master. Make sure he has enough means to protect the lands from invasion. Find how loyal he is to the crown, if he can be entrusted with the lands or if I need someone to protect me from my protector."

Grissom began a protest, "My leige, I am neither diplomat nor spy..."

Again, the King waved his hand dismissively. "You may not lay claim to either title, m'lord, but you are well versed in the deceptions of men and what clues lead to their truth. You are more cunning than any spy or diplomat I have ever had in my service. The man awaits you when you are done here."

"Aye, majesty." It was all he could do not to gnash his teeth. He would go away, he decided in that moment. He would do this final onerous task for his King and then he would leave. He would take his work and his books and his experiments and retire to his house in the north. He would see that the King released him; what more loyalty could he show than to see his own heart ripped from his chest? He felt in that moment that dying would be less painful than the idea of watching his love marry another.

The King heaved a sigh and began in a diplomatic tone of his own, "Grissom, I know you have a fondness for the girl, as do I. The Queen considered it a great favor when you took an interest in her when she first arrived. I also know her brother had promised she need not marry unless she wished, but his death has changed all of that." He sat down in his chair, throwing a leg casually over the arm. "The greater good of her king and her people depend on this marriage. She is a good child; she will do as I bid in this matter."

"As you will, highness," his words were a barely disguised grunt. He was running out of ways to agree without howling out his pain and anger.

"Indeed, m'lord mage, it will be as I will." The words were arrogant, but the tone was somehow an acceptance, with the weight of decisions and responsibilities for their consequences shot through it. "The page outside will take you to Vincent's man...he has a love of wine and the servants are on order to bring you the finest once you have joined him. I've yet to know a man whose tongue was not loosened by the grape. I've told him you have an interest in visiting his master's lands and you wish to find out more about them." He inclined his head towards the door, dismissing the mage.

Heavily, Grissom stood. "By your leave, majesty." He bowed to his king and quit the room; the flashes of pulsing light behind his eyes let him know he would soon be feeling the merciless bite of one of his "spells," his mother's term for the blinding and debilitating headaches.

Indeed, his head was heavy and pounding when he found his bed that night. He could not blame the wine for he barely sipped at the drink as he spoke to Lord Vincent's man, Tripton. The husky, balding man was more than a servant, but less than an equal. A combination of diplomat, soldier and second in command, Tripton was indeed fond of the spirits placed in front of him and, as the king had predicted, was quite forthcoming with information about his lord and master. Tripton had convinced him Vincent would be loyal to the crown and he knew the king would be pleased with his choice. Bitter though it was for him, he could find nothing in the man's drunken ramblings to say otherwise. The mage was ready to quit all company for the night when the man muttered something about loyalty and the word "wife."

"What?" His voice was much too loud, much too harsh, but the drunk man didn't seem to notice beyond raising his nodding head.

Tipton met Grissom's gaze with bleary eyes. "I says, Lord Vincent's a loyal man so long as you're not his wife."

The mage's senses were on sudden high alert. "He dallies with other women?"

Tipton snorted into his goblet, and the sound magnified. "Nay."

Grissom's brow furrowed. "Boys?"

The drunken man barked out a laugh, sending drops of spittle and wine flying across the table. "Nay." He shook his head and then looked as if he wished he hadn't. "He never strayed from his marriage bed with woman nor man. Loved his wife, he did." He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Perhaps a bit too much."

"To what end?" Again, he knew his voice to be too sharp and again Tripton seemed not to notice.

"A bad end for the lady, to be sure." He reached for the flagon and lifting it unsteadily, made a poor job of refilling his drink.

The mage attempted to get him to elaborate, but all for naught. When it became clear the man would say no more, Grissom wearily left him singing tavern tunes in the King's meeting room.

The pain had begun shortly into the interview and increased gradually until it became a demon pulsing on the right side of his head. The noise from the Great Hall only intensified the pounding and he moved through as quickly as the agony within his skull would allow. The journey to the tower and up the winding stairs proved nearly insurmountable. He paused when he reached Sara's alcove, wanting her to be there, but of course, she was not. He rested his head against the cool stone and breathed in the night air, hoping to settle the nausea that roiled in his stomach. Eventually he made himself move and slowly climbed the rest of the way, so unsteady at the last that he hugged the wall to prevent himself from pitching down the stairs.

He struggled out of his cloak and shoes, but had not the energy for anything else other than moving his head out of the bed to retch on the floor when the nausea could no longer be held at bay. The smell was vile, but the searing agony in his head forbade him from moving.

The pain made it difficult to form thought but he was aware of one constant in his wracked and ravaged brain, "Sara."

He was unsure how long he lay there or if he slept, but as if his thoughts of her on the tempo of his pain had conjured her, she was there. Her soft scent filled his room and he heard her quiet voice speaking words he could not understand.

He opened his eyes to confirm she was indeed there.

As ill fortune would have it, she was there but accompanied by the blinding light of the risen sun and he groaned and closed his eyes as the brightness caused a fresh assault of pulsing pain in his head.

"The light must be hurting him. Shutter the windows, Gregory."

Attempting to even his breathing, he concentrated on her voice.

She barely spoke above a whisper but every sound appeared magnified. "How long has he been like this?" She sounded anxious; he wondered who had caused her to be fretful.

"He was like this when I arrived." Gregory's voice was also quiet and threaded through with worry.

Grissom frowned. What had them so vexed? If only the agony in his head would go away, he could perhaps help. He sought to sit up but the movement caused further stabbing within his skull and his stomach to roll again, he cried out then winced at his own voice. Cool fingers ran over his forehead in a soothing caress. "Be still," she whispered.

He felt a damp cloth pressed lightly against his forehead. "Sara..." he muttered.

"Hush," she calmed.

Sighing, he relaxed back into his bed. After a time he heard Sara speak quietly to Gregory. "We'll need some valerian."

"Yes, lady." He heard the sounds of his young assistant moving around the room.

"Have you any feverfew?" She continued to stroke across his brow with the cloth and he felt the fingers of her other hand smoothing through his hair.

"I…I know not, my lady." Gregory sounded confused and anxious. "It is not an herb I have been schooled in."

"No matter, I have some in my stores in my chambers." She continued to stroke through his curls, seeming to be taking measure of the weight and texture as the strands slid through her fingers. He concentrated on the feel of her fingers and how very pleasant her caress was. "Warm some wine, but don't let it boil. Have you any bread or broth?"

He did not discern Gregory's answer as another pulse of pain shot through his skull and he lost awareness of all but the agony thrumming through him like the wrath of a fiend.

When next he had awareness, a soft arm was raising him, pressing a cup to his lips, urging him in Lady Sara's husky voice, "Drink. Drink."

Then there was blessed darkness and oblivion.

The candles were flickering low against the night when next he woke. The pain was still there, but much less; he felt unutterably weak. The ugly smell of bile was no longer on the air and the shutters had been opened again to allow the fresh air to waft through his rooms.

The rustle of fabric alerted him to another presence in the room; he cautiously turned his head to see the Lady Sara shifting on a stool, to draw closer to the candlelight as she read. He gave a weary smile and closed his eyes again.

When he opened them again, the pain was vanished, the sun was up, the candles out, the shutters closed and the lady gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Oh, I'd love to have a witty disclaimer, but it's been a really busy day and I think my brain's broke. Trust me, I really don't own them and I'm making no money from this fic.

In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand's Renaissance wedding.

I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth.

* * *

Upon returning to the tower the next morning, , Gregory looked much relieved to see the mage seated at the window bench, the shutter half opened. "My lord," he breathed, relieved.

"Gregory," he replied solemnly in a scratchy voice. "Thank you for your care."

Flushing slightly with pleasure from his master's words, the young man gave a hasty bow. "I did little, m'lord. Twas the lady that did most; for my part, I was happy to help." He looked at the pale man, "She said you would be almost yourself, if a little weak this morning. To be honest, as bad off as you were, I doubted her word."

Grissom smiled faintly. "The lady has learned well. I shall be happy to convey my thanks when she comes today."

Gregory nodded. "And I know she'll be glad to see you back to yourself." He began opening the other shuttered windows, but only half way in deference to his master's possibly still sensitive head. "Had she been born to a different life, she would have made an excellent healer."

"Aye," Grissom agreed, having forgotten for a few moments the life Lady Sara had been born to. Had fate been kinder and her family lands been less well positioned, he could have asked the King for her hand. But it was not to be. Still, he would treasure the time he had left with her, spend as many hours in her company as he could, storing the moments in his heart to remember and treasure in the lonely years to come.

The mage stayed in his rooms the whole of the day. Though the throbbing in his head was gone, his entire body ached in the aftermath of the painful spell. He was weary from the bout with the pain and the lingering soporific effects of the healing herbs in his system. With an eager heart, he awaited the appearance of the Lady Sara, but as the day wore on into dusk and he slowly rounded the room lighting lamps and candles, she did not materialize.

When he found his bed that night, he still thought a faint trace of her scent lingered in the air. He remembered not the pain of the day and night before, but the feel of her fingers sliding through his hair, her hand against his brow, the arm she wrapped around him to help him drink. He was smiling as sleep found him.

The rising sun woke him and he took inventory of himself. He felt well; there was no lingering ache in his limbs, no clinging lethargy in his brain. Much relieved, he rose and washed.

Prepared for the day and feeling in good health, he set out for his customary morning stroll to the stables. He knew his two equine friends would have missed him the last two days, as well as the freshly picked apples to which they had become accustomed..

The day was fine; the sky was a bright blue with only an occasional soft cloud. The sun's light seemed slightly more golden than it had just a few days before and there was the first hint of autumn in the air. He breathed deeply, taking in the earthy smells of the castle grounds as he made his way to the stables.

The horses were undoubtedly glad to see him. Cigva looked at him with brown eyes wide and soft, then gently butted her head against him in greeting and Arawan nickered quietly at his master, both animals seeming to understand he had been unwell. He took comfort from their gentle actions and spoke to them tenderly, feeling his affection for the creatures warm his chest.

He spent a little longer than his usual with his horses, giving them the apples he had brought with him and when those were gone, many pats and much praise. Though he knew the apples were most appreciated, he knew the petting did not go entirely amiss either.

Eventually, he left the stables and began to make his way back to the castle, hurrying a little at the eager thought that the Lady Sara might already be in his rooms. But when he rounded the corner leading from the stables to the gardens, he saw her familiar figure making her way down the path, past the herb plot, the vegetable patches and the flower garden. As he watched she moved beyond the hedge and he knew she must be headed to the small back gate that led down to the lake.

Desiring a moment alone in her company, he decided to follow along. Eager as he was, he was careful not to move quickly lest he draw attention to himself and some other attempt to join them. No one seemed to pay him any mind as he moved along the path, past the gardens and through the hedge. As he moved through the gate and started down the trail towards the rolling patches of green and clumps of trees along the lake shore he looked for the Lady Sara, but caught no sight of her. His eyes followed the course around the water but saw no trace of her. He frowned and walked closer to the water.

A slight movement beneath one of the larger willows at the water's edge caught his eye and he paused to study it. The small movement resolved itself into Lady Sara's form within the canopy of the tree, gently running her hands across the drooping curtain of limbs and leaves. The greenery seemed almost a charmed veil separating the lady from the rest of the world, enhancing her beauty and protecting her person; the sight enchanted him.

"My lady." He did not think she had seen him approach and was sure to keep his voice gentle so as not to startle her.

She did not answer. Frowning, he pushed back the willow's curtain and stepped within its embrace.

Lady Sara stood near the trunk of the tree, her back stick straight and her face blank.

"My lady?"

"M'lord." Her voice was flat and her curtsy was stiff.

His brow furrowed. "Are you well?"

"I am, m'lord." Her voice remained emotionless. "And you?"

He smiled despite her overly formal tone, "Yes, my lady, I am well, thanks to your care." She nodded and he continued. "I have been having those spells since I was a lad. Thanks to your attentions and treatment this lasted the shortest time with the least ill effects. I owe you a deep debt. I vaguely remember your conversation with Gregory. I had never thought to mix valerian with feverfew. Most resourceful and clever of you."

Her lips appeared stiff, her voice a monotone. "I was happy to be of help, m'lord. As any one with any knowledge of herbs would have done for any who suffered."

He frowned again. "You are sure you are well, lady?"

"I am well." But her eyes remained averted.

He searched her face for some clue to her distance. "I had hoped to thank you for your care yesterday, but you did not come to the tower."

"I was called to audience with the King yestermorn." She finally met his eyes with her own; a fierce light of pain and anger burned there. "I am to be married in a week's time."

He felt the anguished clench of his heart as the weight he had held at bay for so many months finally settled inexorably on his chest. "My lady…"

"The king rushed to assure me that all would be well as he had been well counseled in his choice for my husband by my own revered teacher, the lord mage." Her voice was bitterly cold, less comforting than a winter wind.

He took a step towards her. "My lady, I am most heartily sorry to have contributed to your unhappiness."

She held up a staying hand, indicating he should approach no further. "At my brother's death, I knew I would have to be married. I knew the king would not allow me to live quietly." She took in a shuddering breath. "I was just not expecting it to be so soon, nor for someone I held in such high regard to have betrayed my wishes so thoroughly."

He felt the cut of her words so deeply, he was surprised he did not bleed. "Lady...I had no choice in the matter. I was forced…"

"Forced? No choice? No choice? Would you hear of not having choices, m'lord? My mother was torn from her own mother and given to a man when she was but fifteen. She birthed my brother at the age of sixteen." Her words were acid filled and flaming. "My father was a man of cruelty. He never had any tenderness for his wife or his children. He saw us only as property. He treated his servants better than he treated his wife. He beat her every day of my memory; he forced himself on her, he broke her bones. And she had no choice. No choice until the day she killed him with the huntsman's knife."

Her breath was coming in heaving gasps and his eyes were wide with the shock of her words.

His heart broke a thousand times over, at the pain of her words and the vileness of her past. And he wondered how someone that came from something so horrible and painful could be so strong and so beautiful.

Cautiously, he approached her. "My lady Sara." He reached for both of her hands and held them between his own. "You have seen too many horrors for one so young." He stepped closer so their bodies were only held apart by the width of their joined hands. "I now understand your brother's promise to you." His eyes touched her flushed face, the tears sliding unheeded down her cheeks and the rise and fall of her chest that accompanied her still panting breaths.

"Shhh," he soothed and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Shhh." He moved and rested his cheek against her hair, his hands releasing hers in favor of sliding his arms around her much as he had the night she discovered her brother's death.

After a few moments she quieted and her breathing evened out. He felt her body lose its stiffness and soften against him. When he felt she was calm enough to listen, he spoke. "I am sorry for your pain, Sara. I would not see you hurt for all the wealth in this world or the promise of the next." His arms tightened around her and he fought to find words of comfort. "Not all men are cruel." He felt her shudder against him.

Though the thought hurt him, he strengthened his resolve to offer her hope within her sorrow. "You may yet find happiness with a husband, a home and children of your own. Providence may offer you what your own planning did not; you may yet find love within your marriage."

Slowly she drew her head from where she had nestled against his neck. Even red rimmed from her tears her eyes still shone with the light and beauty that made her heart so exquisite. "Do you truly believe that?"

He looked into her eyes and wanted to stay within her gaze forever. He told himself because he wanted her to be happy it would be a good and right thing if she should find love with her husband. But his voice choked just a bit as he answered, "Aye."

The look on her face was a marriage of tenderness and pain, heartbreak in a glance. Her hands came up and cupped his face; her thumbs slowly stroked across his cheeks, her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips and back again. "Then you are a fool." And she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.

He was shocked for a moment, but just a moment. Then the feel of her lips, warm and moist against his own seemed to shoot a fever all the way through him, consuming him in a wave of brilliant fire from the top of his head, down to his toes. He pulled her closer and returned her kiss, lips pressing into hers, soft, then hard, pressing over and over, then his tongue stroking against the seam of her lips and she opened to him, inviting him in to her warmth, tongue stroking against tongue, tasting the inside of her top lip, nipping at her lower lip. There was no thought, just the feel of her lips, her mouth, her tongue, her fingers stroking against his cheeks, the desire pooling hot and low in his belly.

Their lips clung together, connected it seemed, until she pulled back firmly. Stating again, "You are a fool," she turned and left the shelter of the willow leaving the mage throbbing with desire and aching with love for her.


	10. Chapter 10

I really don't own them but I sometimes I think they own me. I'm making no money from this fic.

In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand's Renaissance wedding.

I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth.

* * *

The kiss changed everything and changed nothing. He had long suspected (or was it just hoped?) that she had feelings for him. He had told himself it was as only a teacher, as a scholar, misplaced affection for an older man when she had lost her father so young.

Of late, as he had felt himself feeling more and more for the young woman, he had wondered, wished, hoped that her feelings were more than he had first supposed. He felt himself wishing he did indeed have the power of magic that others mistook his vast knowledge for. Had he the power of enchantment, he would have put her under a spell, given her a love potion, used some charm to assure she felt for him as he felt for her. Instead, he felt as if he were the one bewitched, firmly under her thrall, hoping it never be broken.

But the passion and fire with which she had kissed him let him know this was no illusion, no trick; the feelings he held for her were real and ran deep and most important, were not unrequited.

The realizations exhilarated him and filled him with despair at the same time. He who had seldom known lightness in his life found himself nearly giddy at the thought that his love for the Lady Sara was true and returned.

Then thoughts of the future would interfere and he found himself in the depth of such despair as he had never known.

There was no hope. The king had decreed her marriage; to prevent it from happening would be considered treason and result in death for one or both of them. But how could he live after she was wed? How could he draw breath in this world knowing she belonged to another man? And what if Lord Vincent was as cruel as Lady Sara's father had been? How could she live being a man's property, subject to his every whim, constantly afraid for her safety?

The thought of someone treating her ill drove him to near madness. He briefly entertained the notion of poisoning Lord Vincent when he arrived at the castle, but his conscience would not allow the thought to do more than pass through his mind. And even if Sara's future husband should meet with an untimely end, the king would still see her married.

Still, he had to know the manner of the man who would be marrying his love. He also knew from his last conversation with Tripton that the man would be wary of sharing any confidences. With this thought in mind, he sought out the Captain of the Guard.

"Captain James." He found him along the guard walk at the top of the castle's outer wall.

"Lord Gilbert." His craggy face broke into a smile. "How may I serve you this fine day?"

"I need to beg a favor of you, Captain." His face was somber, his tone deep and solemn.

The Captain seemed to immediately understand the serious intent from his friend. He looked around to make sure they were alone and then moved closer, lowering his voice as to not be overheard. "You have but to name it, my friend. If it is within my power, it is yours."

Grissom's smile was small but filled with gratitude. "Could I interest you in another cask of the draught from the North, if it had specific purpose and required you to share?"

The older man's eyebrows rose and his brow furrowed with the motion. "That seems not a favor to you so much as it is a favor to me."

The mage continued. "There is a man here, Tripton. He is the Lord Vincent's advance man."

"Aye, we have met. He is fond of the tavern, though I have yet to find myself overly fond of him." The captain's voice was dry.

"I understand. But the favor I ask unfortunately requires you to gain his confidence."

The soldier chewed on the corner of his lip, considering this. "What are you attempting to discover of the man, m'lord?"

Grissom shook his head. "Not of him. Of his master. See what he might say. Is he a good man? A good master? When his wife lived, was he a good husband?" He produced a small bag of coin and pressed it into his friend's hand. "I fear 'twill take more than one night at the tavern to gain his trust."

James nodded. "I understand." His soulful eyes met the mage's with a franker knowledge than Grissom was expecting. "I will do the best I am able."

Grissom clasped the captain's arm with one hand and gripped his shoulder with the other. "This means more than I am able to express. If there is ever a way I am able to repay you, you have but to ask."

A light gesture of a thick hand waved the words away. "I am happy to help you as a friend, as I know you would for me."

The mage smiled again. "And I thank you. With a parting hand clasp, Grissom quit the guard walk and moved back towards his tower.

His only sight of the Lady Sara for several days was at night in the Great Hall where he had no opportunity to speak with her. The first evening, when he met her eyes, he saw her fingers lift and lightly touch her lips as if she were in a dream state.

Then, flushing, she seemed to wake. Her hand dropped even as she averted her gaze..

He could not help the smile that touched his face at the knowledge that their kiss had moved her as well. He held the memory of that moment close to his heart.

The castle bustled, preparing for a three day marriage celebration with a faire in the village and feasting for the court. The groom and bride would meet at the evening meal on the first day and wed the morning of the third.

Oh, would that he were a wizard. He would stop time from moving forward. He would move it back and freeze it forever under the canopy of a willow with Sara in his arms and no other thoughts in the world but the softness of her lips, the scent of her hair, the way her body felt pressed against him. He would trade all of his work, all of the knowledge he had spent his life acquiring to be able to perform that one spell. Still, he knew that an eternity in her arms would never be enough.

But time moved forward. One day, two days, three days. His world narrowed down to naught by the passage of time. He spent hours listening to the thrum and flurry of the preparations for the wedding. Alone in his rooms with nothing but his thoughts, he searched for a solution, trying to see a way through, a way out. Then there were the moments in the Great Hall, wanting her gaze to land on him, wanting to see her smile, wanting her. Moments when their eyes would meet and his eyes burned into hers and all that was unsaid danced between them.

With each passing hour, the weight of his despair grew heavier and the rest of his life stretched before him, dark and desolate. These days, these precious few days, they slipped away.

He was further injured when the King assigned him the task of riding out to Lord Vincent's encampment with the Captain of the Guard and Tripton to greet the lord the day before the celebrations were to begin. Grissom ground his teeth, held his tongue and did as he was bid.

The day was beautiful. The grass was a vibrant green and the scent of apples and hay carried on the wind, the last of summer. The sky was blue and the mage's heart was black. Tripton and James conversed of drink and warfare. Grissom rode a few feet ahead and spoke naught.

Lord Vincent had arrived the day before and set up camp less than a league from the keep. There were over a dozen tents and at least thrice that many soldiers. Grissom was unsure if it was a show of force or wealth, but it did convey power as was undoubtedly the lord's intent.

They were stopped by sentries before entering the camp and Lord Vincent was fetched by the guard. The mage, the captain and the lord's man waited on their horses, their silence only disturbed by the ring of the horses' bridles and the shift of the saddles.

Eventually, a tall man with dark hair strode forward from the center of the camp; Grissom judged the man to be roughly his own age. "Hail, gentlemen! Captain." He nodded to the older man, then turned to the mage. "My lord Grissom, you are known well far and wide. I am humbly glad to know you." While the man sounded genial enough, he did not sound at all humble.

"Lord Vincent. His majesty, the King, bids you welcome." Grissom knew despite his words of welcome his voice sounded cold. The most he hoped for in that moment was to not sound openly hostile.

Vincent made a wide gesture. "Gentlemen. Please. Quit your horses and allow me to offer you food and drink. My camp is not much, but you are welcome here."

Grudgingly, Grissom dismounted along with James and Tripton.

The lord turned to one of the guards. "See their horses watered and secured." At the guard's nod

They were led to a large tent bearing the flag of the lord, where they were seated at a table and served wine, bread and cheese.

"Now, m'lord." Vincent smiled, but it seemed only a movement of his lips; there was no light in his eyes, nor more warmth than one would find in a painting of fire. "Tell me of his majesty's plan for my wedding celebration."

Grissom's back remained stiff but his voice betrayed no emotion. "The King hunts on the morrow. The forest road is on the other side of the village; the hunt begins at dawn, he bids you there that you may enjoy the sport together."

"And my bride? Will she join us for the hunt, as well?" Though his voice was genial, Vincent's eyes were sharp.

The mage shook his head. "Nay. You will meet at the even meal in the Great Hall. There is a village faire all of the next day."

The lord's eyebrows rose into his forehead. "And the wedding?"

Grissom ground his teeth against the bile and anger that rose at the thought. "The following morn after a wedding breakfast."

"Well and good." He clapped his hands together. "We will ride after the wedding."

"M'lord?"

"We will start for home directly after the wedding." He sipped from his goblet.

Grissom felt his loss looming over him like the shadow of death. "But my lord…"

Vincent waved. "I have no desire to spend more time away from my lands than necessary. Once we are wed, the Sidle lands will need to be inspected and my men will need to take over for the King's men."

"My lord." The mage leaned forward earnestly. "The lady is still grieving her brother. Surely you would not rip her away from her home with so little pity."

"The lady will have a new home when we wed." His nostrils flared. "Where I go, so must she follow. Her only concerns will be running my household and giving me sons; she will not have room in her heart for grief."

Grissom sat back and blinked at the lord who, in turn, studied him.

"Tell me of her, m'lord mage." He spoke softly, but his eyes bore into Grissom, seeming to read his very soul. "Is she a beautiful maid? Is she soft spoken and modest? Will she be an obedient and faithful wife?"

Tripton, into his third goblet of wine, spoke frankly, seemingly unaware of the undercurrent of tension between the two men. "She is a comely wench; one you will be most glad to have warming your bed, m'lord."

There was a crack from a sudden backhand from Lord Vincent against his face that sent Tripton's head snapping back and blood from his nose mingling with his wine.

Grissom started and the captain was on his feet, hand already on his sword, prepared should things suddenly go awry.

Lord Vincent stood, looming over the bleeding man. "She is to be my wife and as such, your mistress, you filthy cur. Speak of her again in any but the highest, purest regard and I will cut your tongue out and feed it to the village pigs."

Tripton held his hand to his nose, suddenly very sober, his voice muffled and nasal. "Aye, m'lord."

Lord Vincent sighed and handed Tripton a cloth. "Go. Wash."

Holding the cloth to his face, Tripton stumbled from the tent.

The lord turned to the remaining two men. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen." He shook his head. "Tripton is a loyal man, but sometimes lets the drink get the better of him." His eyes fell on Grissom. "I will have your horses brought forward. You may tell the King I will see him at dawn for the hunt." Giving a perfunctory bow, Lord Vincent indicated they should precede him from the tent.

At the outskirts of the camp, awaiting the horses and Tripton's return, the Captain leaned in towards Grissom. "Methinks if ever the man were to tell a tale his master did not want to be told, tonight would be the night. I will collect the cask from you when we return."

Grissom nodded dumbly. He had not thought his heart could get any heavier. He felt everything that Sara had feared of her marriage was doomed to be her reality. He had had no idea that pain of the heart could literally hurt the body until now. But he felt the sickness in his stomach and ache within his chest and knew there was no remedy in the world for such disease.

The horses were returned to them in short order. Tripton, sullen and still slightly bloody, joined them shortly after. Lord Vincent did not appear again and the sentries appeared to watch them with extra vigilance, causing the Captain of the Guard to frown fiercely and not move his hand from the hilt of his sword until they were well on their way.

The ride back to the keep was made in leaden silence.


	11. Chapter 11

**RATING CHANGE WITH THIS CHAPTER PLEASE READ RESPONSIBLY**

Disclaimer: I really don't own them but I sometimes I think they own me. I'm making no money from this fic.

In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand's Renaissance wedding.

I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth. She helped so much with this chapter, but I fooled with it after she looked at it, so, all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI

The return to the castle was uneventful. James came to fetch the cask and left again without discussion or promises. He was aware of the import of what he was doing, especially to Grissom. Even if he found that Lord Vincent was cruel to his first wife or beat her, there was nothing the mage could do to prevent the marriage from taking place.

The setting sun reminded Grissom that at sunset the next day, the bride and groom would meet and the wedding celebration would begin. Less than two days after that, she would ride away, another man's wife. He might never see her again.

Twas a cruel fate that had finally shown him that there was more to life than his work, the natural philosophies, even service to his king only to turn around and show him in absolute terms that he could never have it. It was a wrench, a living agony to know how close she had been and yet he had never taken the opportunity to tell her how beautiful he thought her, how he admired her mind, or that he loved her deeply, passionately, eternally.

He sat in his rooms as day turned to night and pondered the bleakness of his fate, a life without her. Even when he heard the servants come to light the torches along the stairs he did not rise to light his own lamps. As night fell, he did not rouse himself to shutter the windows or draw the curtains. He sat in the dark, in the cool air, with only the fire in the fireplace for warmth, wondering how he could feel such pain and yet not bleed from it. Hours passed and the bustle of the keep that always drifted through his windows quieted and still he sat, unmoving, uncaring.

The end of first watch had come and gone when he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside his rooms. It would be Captain James, he was sure, come to report of his conversation with Tripton. Grissom was too weary from his own thoughts to call out to his friend; let him come or go, it mattered not any longer. The die was cast and fate had him as her plaything, much as a cat with a mouse.

But the voice that reached him through the darkness was not that of the Captain. "Lord Grissom?"

His heart stopped, then leapt forward. "Lady Sara?"

The glow of a lone candle preceded her slim figure into the room. "M'lord."

Her voice, velvety low, danced along his spine and he stood. He took one step towards her, but stopped. "My lady, what brings you here? And at this late hour?"

Instead of answering, she raised her candle to study him. "You were not in the Great Hall tonight."

He blinked. The candle light played along the planes and hollows of her face and flickered in her eyes. His heart wondered…was this his last moment alone with her? How many more times would he be privileged to lay his eyes upon her, to speak to her, to hear her voice?

The silence stretched out until his addled brain caught up with her statement of a few moments previous. "No." He shook his head. "No, I was here."

She placed her candle on the table between them and he could see that she had abandoned her mourning dress and had donned the green surcoat she had worn on the day of his return. The light from the fire shimmered against the golden cord of the belt tied at her waist. "You…" She bit her lip. "I had hoped to see you."

His stomach curled in on itself and he wondered how much time he had wasted on his own miserable thoughts. Had he not been just been bemoaning the lost opportunity to tell her how much he cared for her? Why did he sacrifice these precious moments? Was he indeed the fool she had accused him of being when last they spoke?

He took another step towards her and then another. Her eyes widened and he saw her swallow just before she reached her hands out to him.

As he grasped her fingers in his, he felt something loosen within his chest. He held there for a moment, then lifted first one, then the other of her hands to his lips. "Sara," he whispered her name as he pulled her close. "My lady, my love." He pressed his lips to her temple and breathed in the scent of her.

He felt her tremble and her voice quivered as she asked. "Am I?" She pulled back to look into his eyes and he saw a glimmer of hope there. "Am I indeed your love? Do you, in truth, love me?"

"My lady, I have ceased to be the man I was." Again, he brought her hands to his mouth, this time kissing her right palm. "I am no longer mage nor philosopher, lord nor teacher." His lips found her left palm. "I am naught else but love for you housed in this body."

Slowly, she leaned into him, lightly brushing her lips against his. "Then I am a fortunate woman to have the man that I love, love me in return."

He rested his brow against hers. "I have never felt such as this, nor will I ever again." He sighed, though whether it was one of contentment or sorrow even he could not say. "Come away with me."

The lady looked at him with wide, startled eyes. "What?"

"Come away with me. Now…tonight." His voice took on a note of urgency. "Leave with me. We can ride through the night and be well away by morning."

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. "Tis treason against the crown to even say such a thing." He began to protest but she covered his lips with long fingers. "I will not let you give up your life, your title, your work, your lands, your honor." She shook her head. "What kind of woman would I be if I allowed you to do those things and in so doing, I betrayed my foster parents?"

Her fingers traced the outline of his mouth and stroked lightly over the whiskers on his upper lip. "Even if I cared naught for those things…my mother lives under the King's auspices, under guard at his country house. She is half mad some days, but others she is her normal self." Lady Sara's gaze remained intent on his lips, watching her own finger as it glided along his mouth, through his beard. "She should have been hanged for my father's murder, but out of his pity for me she has been allowed to live. If I were to commit treason against the crown, the King's mercy might be come to an end and her life could be forfeit."

He bent his head under the weight of her words. There was nothing to it then; he would gladly give up all for her, but he knew neither of them would, or could, allow someone to pay with their life. He felt broken, defeated. "How am I to live, then? Always alone, knowing my love is married to another? Hoping you are happy, fearing you are not? Do I spend my nights dreaming of you, imagining that you dream of me as well? Is that all we will ever have of each other?" His voice was rough with anguish.

"Oh my love," she whispered. "I did not come here tonight to cause you to grieve." Her hands came up and cupped his cheeks and again she brushed her lips lightly against his.

This time though, he pulled her closer into his body and did not let her pull away. He pressed his mouth against hers. Her warm moist lips parted slightly allowing him to lightly bring her bottom lip between his own, caressing it with his tongue.

He heard a sound come from her that was between a sigh and a moan; he released her mouth and kissed each of her closed eyes, then each of her flushed cheeks, the tip of her nose, her chin. He felt desire coil low in his belly and he relished the press of his flesh against her own. He delighted in each caress and sought to preserve it in his mind. As cooks and farmers preserved the summer crops for winter feasts, so he would save and savor the memory of each touch of his flesh against hers for the long, cold, lonely years that stretched before him.

After covering her face with soft kisses, he again pressed his forehead to hers, sighing. "Why, then, did you come to the tower tonight, my lady?"

He felt the heat rise off her face as she flushed but her voice was husky and unafraid. "I came to ask you to love me."

Pressing a kiss into her hair, he responded. "I do, lady, I do."

"No." She drew away from him so that she could look him in the eyes. "I came to ask you to love me with your body as I have hoped you already loved me with your heart and mind."

His heart leapt into his throat and a spike of lust shot straight through him before his mind wrested control back from his baser nature. "My lady, I can not soil your honor in such a way."

"You would send me to a cold marriage bed never having known love?" Her voice held a hint of the same bitterness it had possessed the day under the willow.

"My love, I would give the rest of my life for but an hour in your arms. But I can not take advantage of your innocence; I can not wrong you in this way." He reached his hand toward her in a gesture of supplication.

She gave him a smile that was bittersweet. "How do you take advantage of me, my lord? I offer myself freely to you, with love. What deceit or trickery is there in that? If I wish to give my body to you as the husband of my heart for my whole life, despite who the laws of the king will say is my husband, how does that wrong me?"

"It would dishonor your name." He shook his head and stepped back from the temptation that called to him. "You are an innocent; your husband will know if you…"

She gave a little laugh, genuinely amused. "Women have been fooling men about their virginity since the beginning of time, Lord Grissom. A sleeping draught in my husband's evening goblet and a small vial of pig's blood for the bed coverings and he is none the wiser."

He felt his desire for her rising and his reservations slipping, but he would not allow himself to fall. "Lady Sara, I would not be the one to cause you pain."

Her brows rose. "I am aware the loss of my maidenhead will cause me pain, my lord. Would you rather that happen at the hands of a man that loves me or a man that will own me? Would you rather I be treated with care and gentleness by the man I love or without pity from a man I do not know?" Her fingers toyed with her belt, smoothing the corded material through her fingers over and over.

Their voices were silent, yet the very air seemed to throb with the beating of their hearts. He fought with himself, but then could not fathom why he fought. His longing for her was so intense that he seemed to have lost his wits. Was what she said real and true or did he just want it to be because he loved her with his heart and mind and wanted the gift of loving her body?

His indecision must have shown on his face, for as he watched, her long, nimble fingers unknotted her belt and it fell, unheeded, to the floor.

"Lady Sara," he breathed, not knowing what to say.

With her surcoat loosened, she seemed nearly formless, almost ethereal. "Let me not be a lady tonight. Let me be naught but your love and your lover." So speaking, she pulled off the surcoat and stood before him in only her chemise.

The light of the fire made a tantalizing silhouette of the lines and curves of her body and he felt himself harden and burn for her.

One last shred of rational thought remained as she took one step towards him and he took two towards her. "What if there is a child?"

Sara's face was turned up to his and her eyes blazed with hunger and love. "I hope with all my heart there is."

There was no answer to that but to pull her into his arms and into his kiss. Grissom's arms drew her to him tightly, bringing her as close to him as he possibly could, so close he thought they might meld. While he remained fully clothed, the thin material of her chemise was the only thing that separated her naked body from the grasp of his hands and it seemed to him that her skin burned through the fine muslin, branding him forever with the feel of her.

The last remnants of his conscience whispered that he should preserve her honor, but the greater part of his brain and all of his heart and body longed for the touch of her flesh under his fingers and the feel of her body beneath his. If this was all he would ever have, he was intent on knowing every inch of her skin and loving her as she had asked.

Breaking their kiss, he scooped her up into his arms and pushed his way through the draped entry to his bedchamber. Reverently, he placed her on the bed, nearly panting, not from the exertion of lifting her slight weight, but with the racing of his heart, the throbbing of his desire, the intoxicating sight and smell of her. He stood, torn between drowning in her eyes and tasting her lips again. "Lady…Sara…I would not frighten or hurt you. Should you decide it is not what you want after all, I will abide by your wishes."

She raised herself to kneel before him on the bed. "This…" Her arms looped around his neck. "…is the one thing I do want." So saying, she pulled his head down, mouth meeting mouth in a kiss of searing intensity. Their lips opened to each other, inviting, tasting, plundering. Her slender fingers wound into the curls at the back of his neck and his thicker hands stroked her back, caressing her skin through her gown.

Grissom broke away from her lips and kissed his way down her neck as his hands skimmed over her bottom, once, twice, then on the third sweep filling his hands with the perfect roundness of the globes, squeezing them gently. He pulled her further into him and unconsciously ground his erection against her as he sucked her earlobe into his mouth. "So beautiful." His breath was hot against her skin as he used his tongue to trace the shell of her ear and then kissed and licked his way back down her neck and to the exposed skin of her chest.

Drawing back, he drank in the sight of her; her lips were parted and moist, her breath was coming in excited little pants, her dark eyes were unfocused and half closed. He could have stilled and stared at her for a hundred years, but after a moment she seemed to wake from whatever stupor she was in and slowly, reached for his belt. Quickly, his hand covered hers. "Are you sure?"

She heaved a great, put-upon sigh and looked at him with love in her eyes and mischief in her voice. "You are known as one of the greatest minds of our time. In this land and several of our neighbors, your name is revered and the same as saying 'wisdom.' Yet, here am I, your pupil, repeating the same information to you." Tenderly, she ran her fingers through his beard, lightly touched his lips, ran a finger tip through the cleft in his chin. "Love me. Take me, make me yours." She pressed another kiss to his mouth. "Though I have little knowledge of the art of love, I do know the preferred way is to remove one's clothes." Reaching down, she grabbed the hem of her chemise and pulled the garment over her head.

Sara was bare to him, bathed in moonglow and firelight. His breath caught in his throat, desire and reverence blooming in his chest at the sight of her body, her curves and hollows, lines and planes, her silken skin and thatch of hair. His body throbbed.

Her long fingers undid his belt as he stood before her, dumb and aching. The belt dropped and she reached to divest him of his overtunic, all playfulness gone, in its place an eager fire. "Love me, my lord, my love. Love all of me with all of you."

The tunic dropped to the floor, followed by his leggings and undershirt. Grissom climbed on the bed, naked, and knelt in front of her. He noted how her eyes roamed over him without shame or fear, but only with hunger and love.

Slowly, he enfolded her in his arms and at last flesh met flesh, his hardened member pressing into her soft belly. The feel of so much skin finally meeting its mate caused them both to sigh. They held there for a moment, reveling in the feel of each other, committing the moment to memory, to burn brightly through long dark years of loneliness.

His hands mapped out her body as though mapping out a new world. The plane of her stomach, the perfect weight of her breasts in his hands, the texture of her rosy nipples on his fingertips. He explored the length of her arms with his hands while his tongue traveled the circumference of her nipples, suckling first one, then the other, delighting in her breathy sighs and her surprised "Oh"s.

When he moved back up her body to kiss her mouth again, to devour her lips with voracious abandon, she stopped him with her husky words. "Would you think me wanton if I asked to touch you?" His manhood jumped as he looked down into her face. She looked neither shy nor inhibited; her tone, her expression spoke of one eager to learn, but afraid to offend or do wrong.

Swallowing heavily, he shook his head. "Nay. I would think myself fortunate."

Smiling, Sara pushed against his shoulder and they rolled so that she was lying atop his body. He could feel the press of her moist sex against his belly and he bit back a moan at the thought of driving into her slick heat.

"I would know all of you, my love." Timidly at first, she ran her hands over his muscled arms and shoulders. Growing ever more bold, she skimmed her palms over his chest, then over his stomach and down to the heavy weight of his sex. Her fingers were long and surrounded him easily and he fought against quaking at the contact.

"Oh," she breathed, stroking him. "How can flesh be so soft and so firm at the same time?" He gritted his teeth against the heat pulsing through him with each glide of her hand upon him. Her other hand joined the first, exploring all of him, learning, testing, caressing. He felt his brow begin to bead with perspiration and lust dance throughout his body all in response to her hands on him, the press of her naked breasts against him, the smell of her arousal on the air.

While she stroked him with her hands, she leaned down and licked first one, then his other nipple with a wet brush of her tongue. Grissom shuddered under her mouth and as she sat up, he caught sight of her smile flashing in the darkness. She moved her fingers from the heavy weight between his legs and took his hands in hers, bringing it to her breast, "When you kiss me here…" She moved his other hand down to the delta between her thighs. "…I feel it here."

His hands moved without thought or plan, they were as a musician and her body was the finest lyre. His fingers sought to wring the loveliest song from her body. His thumb stroked over a nipple as he delved between her folds. She gave a small cry when his finger found and stroked the pearl at her center. Her exclamation of surprise soon gave way to gasps of delight as he continued to caress her, using a rhythm that caused her to begin rocking her hips against him. She moved and he answered, both of them surging with ever increasing tempo, his fingers playing her body. The cry she gave as she reached the pinnacle was the most beautiful of love songs.

She collapsed on to him, shuddering. He encircled her with his arms, pressing soft kisses into her hair until, sliding from his body to the bed beside him, she panted, "I did not know."

He smiled at his beloved. "We have only just begun the lesson."

He began kissing her again; her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes, her hair. He pressed his lips to her skin, kissing his way over every inch of her face and lower, licking and sucking on the skin of her neck, then her breasts. He lavished attention on her nipples, her earlobes, her lips. He kissed her belly and ran his tongue around her navel and then suckled at her breast again. He caressed her thighs with maddening light touches, kneaded her buttocks firmly.

Sara moved beneath him, panting and moaning, finally begging him, "Take me, please, love. Make me yours."

He positioned himself between her thighs and closed her hand over his throbbing hardness and together they guided him into her body.

Grissom moved forward slowly until he encountered the barrier they both knew would be there. He paused. "Love, I can not help hurting you."

A sensual smile of promise, tinged only slightly with fear, met his words. "Make me your lover, m'lord. There is no amount of pain that would stop that from being my heart's desire."

Kissing her tenderly, he moved forward, a bit at a time, feeling the barrier stretch and Sara tense with the stretching. She did not cry out, but he could feel her body stiffen against his own and at one point, she gave an involuntary wince. He paused, allowing her a moment. Then, kissing her softly, he continued and moved into her with agonizing slowness, pushing himself into her little by little until he was fully sheathed in her warmth.

His heart was thumping; his chest was heaving. His body wanted to drive into her, to take her as she had said she wanted to be taken, but his heart and mind bade him to patience. If this was to be their only time together, if this was the only time she was to know tenderness in the meeting of her body with another, then he would gentle her into the ways of love. His love, he knew, must override his passion and there was so much of both roaring through him now, holding her in his arms, surrounded by her slick heat.

Sweating, gritting his teeth, he held still inside her until he felt the tension leave her. Then, still full seated within her, he began kissing her again. Her mouth, her neck, he breasts. He rubbed his beard against her chest and nipped at her neck. He sucked on her collarbones and licked her ears. What he could not reach with his mouth, he caressed with his hands. The touch of his lips, the touch of his fingers, the touch of his flesh against hers were exquisitely gentle and he waited to feel her body to begin to respond to his again.

Gradually, Grissom heard her breath quicken again in response to the caresses of his hands and mouth. He kissed her deeply, his hunger for her mouth ravenous. He felt relief flood through him when he felt her answer the kiss just as passionately as before, meeting him with her own insatiable hunger. He wanted to weep at the perfection of his body joined with hers, her mouth caressing his.

Slowly, he rocked forward and Sara gave a small moan. He stilled, afraid he had hurt her again.

Seeming to know his very thoughts, she shook her head. "It doesn't hurt anymore. Please, love, teach me."

They were words she had spoken to him so long ago, when she was but a girl and he was a different man. Yet somehow, it had all lead to this moment. "Sara," he whispered. He rocked against her again, this time hearing the need and desire in the responding sound she made.

Unexpectedly shifting beneath him, she raised her right leg and he gave an involuntary thrust in response. He groaned. "Sara, if you move, I will lose control."

He caught a glimpse of a wicked and teasing smile. "I think I must be a wanton after all, my lord." She rolled her hips against him, laughing when he surged forward again. Then both of her legs wrapped themselves around his body. "I want to wrest your control from you."

"Love…"

Her fingers covered his lips, hushing him. "I want to know all of you. Love me."

He knew not why he argued, some lingering thought of sensibilities and honor perhaps. But what was all that for a lifetime when faced with only one night to be with her, to love her. Finally, abandoning all thought, Grissom pulled her body tighter into his embrace and began sliding into her with deliciously long, slow strokes, muttering her name and words of love as he moved within her.

He pushed into her body and pulled out again, striving to remain in control. The fit of his body within her was perfection and desire combined. There was nothing but the two of them, their love, their joined bodies sliding together as he moved within her, thrusting again and again.

For her part, Sara found her own natural rhythm, surging up to meet him, matching every push of his body with a raise of her hips, making wordless sounds of pleasure and yearning. Each movement of her body against his, every moan and sigh, each bounce of her breasts as he thrust into her drove him closer to the primal edge where craving moved into need and blossomed into completion. The tight grip of her body around his manhood caused the ache of elemental lust to coil and tangle low in his groin, tighter and tighter with every plunge of flesh within flesh.

Her warm breath whispered against his face as she gasped again. She began to writhe beneath him in earnest, moving, meeting, seeking. Slipping his hand between their sweat soaked bodies, his fingers sought and found the jewel between her slick folds. She gasped loudly at his touch, but he did not take his hand away, stroking her in time to the stroke of his hips as he watched the pleasure overtake her. Her gasps became little cries of need. She arched her back, bucking against him in near desperation, her arms tightening around him. "Love," she cried. "Oh, love."

He felt her body begin to pulse and spasm around him and his body answered. He drove into her in earnest, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting and then there was nothing but the sweet release within her, gasping "Sara" as he felt himself pulsing into her warm wetness. He knew with clarity stronger than prescience that there would never, could never, be another woman for him.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I really don't own them but I sometimes I think they own me. I'm making no money from this fic.

In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand's Renaissance wedding.

I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth. She had to do a lot of work on this chapter; if you like anything about it, it's probably because of her.

CSICSICSICSICSICSI

Once their breathing returned to normal Grissom moved off of her body and pulled her close. Entwined, they rested together, loathe to lose any contact.

She rested her head against his chest, her long fingers slowly skating across the flesh there. "Often in my life, I have railed against the heavens that I was born a female, never more than these last days when, by virtue of the fact that I am a woman, I have no control over my own destiny." Sara sighed softly, blowing her breath across his bare skin. "But to have this time with you…to have been a woman in your arms this once…I would not change my lot in life if it is payment for this one night."

"Sara." He had always loved her name, so simple, yet so beautiful. But now that he knew the sound of her name whispered against her skin, breathed against her breast, grunted into the joint where her neck and shoulder met, cried out loud as he spilled himself into her, he was in love with the sound of it. The beauty of it enthralled him, as if her name were somehow a part of her and merely by saying it he could hold a piece of her.

"Sara." His arm tightened around her, reveling in the feel of her bare, soft skin. "There is still time. We could ride away; we would not be missed until well after dawn." He felt her shake her head against him and he kissed her crown. "The Queen would not allow the King to hurt your mother. She has not been punished by his hand for more than four years; surely he would not now."

She shifted, sliding up slightly so their faces were aligned. "I would give all that I have, my dowry, my family home and lands, every ribbon I own to be with you. But my love, I could not live with myself if I abandoned my honor and asked you to abandon yours. What is more, you could not live with me either." Her hands cupped his cheeks and her look was tinged with grief but still so full of love. "You would come to hate me."

"I could never hate you." His voice was husky but his protest was vehement.

Sara smiled sweetly. Sadly. "You think not now. But when you realized all you had abandoned for my sake…everything you have worked your whole life for, you would come to resent me for it."

"No." Grissom pressed a fevered kiss to her brow. "Never. I would not, I swear it."

Sighing, she nestled her head against him. "I believe you, love. I do." She idly traced his eyebrows with the tip of her finger. "But we love each other's hearts as well as minds and bodies. Should I abandon honor and duty, I would cease to be that person you say you love."

He felt a thickness in his throat and a tightening within his chest as he listened to her words. While he did not think he could ever stop loving her, he knew he would think less of himself if he became a thief, stealing a bride in the dark of night. Yet his heart cried out in anguish; to lose what he had possessed so briefly, to have held what he thought would never be his…it all seemed senseless, unbearable pain.

Grissom shifted so he lay on his side facing her and she moved to reflect him. They faced each other, the faint glow of firelight from the other room their only light. He let out a breath. "If the fates allowed me to love you in the open, I would make you my wife…if you would have me to husband." He traced her collarbone then her shoulder, delighting in the silk of her skin. "We would wed in the morning and immediately after, I would put you on Arawn and we would ride out, away from the village, until we came to a meadow, far enough afield that none would see us."

His hands skimmed down her arm with a light but lingering touch. "I would lay you down in the tall grass and bare all of you to my gaze." He leaned in and pressed a moist kiss to the place where her neck and shoulder joined. "I would count every freckle and kiss every inch of your skin." His fingers danced up her arm and slid to her breast, caressing the nipple, then cupping the weight within his palm. "Oh, sweet, I would wring such a song of love from your lips by kissing every part of you." His lips caressed the hollow at the base of her throat. "And when you could sing no more, I would join my body with yours and take you there. I would hide no part of our love. I would sing my own song of love within you, there in the light with the sun kissing us both."

Sara ran her fingers through his curls and he heard the tears and tenderness within her voice. "I will dream of the sun on my bare skin for the rest of my days, beloved."

He rolled them until she was on her back and he rested between her thighs. Grissom brushed his lips across her chin and then the corner of her mouth. "Promise me, dearest. Swear to me if ever you change your mind or you are too unhappy with Lord Vincent, if he is cruel to you or treats you ill, promise me you will send word to me. Swear it, that I may keep that hope."

"I swear, my love." She pressed her lips to his softly, but he returned the softness with hunger. His tongue swept her mouth as if he would devour her.

Drawing away from him, panting, she was still able to give him a smile tinged with mischief. "But now I fear your words and your kiss have ignited a fire within me." She caressed his shoulders, his chest. "I am new to the ways of love, m'lord. Could you show a poor, simple maid how best to extinguish the flames?"

"Ah." He shifted so his engorged manhood brushed against her as his words, passionate and playful, filled her ears. "M'lady, I can but show you how to dampen the flame." He settled his body against her with a grunt of appreciation. "I fear this fire will never be extinguished." All teasing gone, he looked into her eyes with a wealth of love. "And though it may cause me pain, I am glad of it."

Her hand slipped between their bodies and brought him home. "I, as well, love. I, as well."

He besieged her lips with his own and began to move within her again.

***

The line of the eastern horizon was beginning to glow with a rosy hue when Lady Sara began to dress to take her leave of him. They stood together beside the work table where they had shared so much time, the place where they had come to know and love each other, now grieving the loss of that love. The sweetness of the hours they had spent lying in each others arms did nothing to alleviate the bitterness of their parting. Grissom felt as if his very soul was being ripped from him as he held her in his arms and kissed her over and over.

Thick with tears, Sara's voice wobbled as she clung to him. "My love, I must fly."

"I know, sweet, I know." But he did not release her nor did she attempt to break his hold.

Within the circle of each other's arms, they both wanted nothing more than for time to stop that they might stay there forever. The short hours of the night felt like grains of sand within the ocean, too small to fight the rising tide, too slight against all encompassing vastness.

He knew she needed to return to her chambers before the castle began stirring, but the idea of putting her away from him was the same to him as cutting off his own arm.

"Lady Sara." The voice of Captain James cut across the room, eliciting a hastily suppressed shriek from the lady. The older man seemed not to notice as he entered the mage's rooms.

The mage was fully aware there was no other explanation for him and the Lady Sara being so entwined, save the truth. He felt the sudden heat that flooded the lady's cheeks, but his own emotions had careened too wildly in the previous hours for him to feel anything so mundane as embarrassment or shame. He was sure it was only her own natural modesty that caused her to flush so hotly.

As for the Captain, he did not blink at the sight of the young woman in the mage's embrace. "You must back to your chambers. The hunt begins at dawn. Your absence will be noticed and then it will be disgrace and dishonor for you and a charge of treason for the lord mage if you are found here."

Unmindful of the Captain's presence, the mage took her face between his hands and pressed his lips to hers in one last tender salute. "I will hold you in my heart forever."

Her lips trembled and tears pooled in her eyes. "As you will be in mine."

The Captain's voice was sympathetic but firm. "Lady, you must away."

With one last loving look at the mage, Lady Sara took her candle and hurried from the room, never meeting the Captain's gaze.

Both men watched until she was out of sight, then the mage looked at his friend. "How did you know the lady was here?" He looked at the Captain's rumpled uniform and bleary eyes. "Have you been drinking with Tripton the whole night?"

Wearily, the Captain slumped down onto one of the benches at the work table. "Nay." He unfastened the strap holding his scabbard and laid the sword on the table. "I was on my way to share the news of Tripton with you and saw the Lady but a few steps ahead of me." He rubbed a thick fingered hand over his face. "It seemed prudent to keep watch upon the stairs."

Grissom looked at his friend, blinking and mouth agape. "You sat watch all night, that we not be revealed?"

The Captain shrugged. "I cared not for the idea of you being so discovered."

"James…" Grissom searched for adequate words but found none. "I am in your debt. I know not how to thank you."

Sadly, the older man shook his head. "I fear you will have no gratitude when you hear the tale Tripton has relayed to me this night." Smiling, faintly, the man corrected himself. "This night past."

The mage sat, all senses on high alert. "Tell me."

"The lord appeared to love his young wife, was very proud of her youth and beauty. After just a short time, though, he grew distrustful of her. Would not let her leave his home, not even to the village."

The Captain moved his head from side to side, as though to loosen the tension that had knotted there. "He claimed he feared for her safety, but soon the Lady Deborah was not allowed to leave her rooms. He allowed her no letters, no visitors save one serving maid."

He was silent for several moments as he stared into the embers of the mage's fire. When he finally did speak, his words were slow and grave. "One day, his lordship came in from the village and went straight to the lady's rooms. There was a great argument and the lady could be heard screaming in grief and crying. No one quite knows how, but she escaped her rooms. He caught her at the top of the stairs." He moved his gaze back to Grissom's. "The servants were told she tripped on her gown and fell, breaking her neck on the way down. Lord Vincent said the blood must have come from cuts from the stone."

Lord Grissom watched with horrified fascination as the Captain drew something wrapped in cloth from his tunic. He gave a bleak smile as he unwrapped it. "This cost you all of your cask and the rest of your gold." The tattered muslin parted to reveal a pointed dagger stained with what could only be blood, dried and flaked though it was. "Tripton recovered the knife when the Lady Deborah met her end, and neglected to return it to his master. He says he knows not why he kept it."

Grissom's eyes remained riveted to the dagger even as Captain James finished the tale. "Also of note, Lord Vincent's nephew was found the next day in a field on the other side of the village with his throat slit." His lips moved into an ironic twist. "The murderer was never found."

The silence hung thick and heavy between them, each man pondering the burden of this knowledge as the sun broke over the horizon and the castle and the grounds below came to life.

It was finally the Captain that broke the quiet between them. "There is no surety that he will treat the Lady Sara the same."

The mage was grim in his response. "Nor is there surety that he will not."

The Captain looked at him appraisingly. "Will she away with you?"

Lord Grissom shook his head. "Nay. She would not betray her honor and duty, nor would she allow me to betray mine."

The Captain nodded, smiling faintly. "That sounds like the Lady." He looked at his friend. "Will you let her go or will you fight?"

To fight meant to risk all, his good name, his work, even his life. Less than an hour previous he had been prepared to let her go and hope that she could find, if not happiness, then contentment at least. But now he not only doubted both happiness and contentment, he feared for her life.

"I will fight."

The Captain of the Guard clapped his shoulder and gave him a weary smile. "Have you a plan? And how may I help?"

***

When Gregory entered the work room later that morning he found the mage hard at work with pots and jars, mortar and pestle scattered over every available surface. Three braziers were in full use, several items heating over the charcoal and noxious smells hanging in the air.

The mage looked at his assistant. "Gregory, I am glad you have arrived. We have a busy day."

Wide eyed, the young man nodded. "Aye, m'lord."

"First, I need for you to seek out the Master Gardener; ask him if we may avail ourselves of his saltpetre. We will need that which has already been aged." He tossed a bag to his assistant. "If he is unwilling to part with it, offer him coin or service, just bring it back to me. But I believe Master David will accommodate us."

"Aye, m'lord."

"Bring the saltpetre to me as soon as you obtain it." As soon as Gregory nodded, Grissom continued. "I am also in need of honey. See what you can charm from the kitchen maids. Also ask them for a goodly amount of charcoal; if you need you may go to the village to obtain more, but time is very important today, Gregory."

Again Gregory agreed, both his pallor and anxiety increasing. "Aye, Lord Grissom."

"Then seek out the Master of the Hunt. The King hunted this morning, but the huntsman will be back to the keep well before midday. If he has not returned, leave word for him to seek us out; if you do see him, ask him for the favor of capturing a serpent for me."

His mouth dropped open. "A serpent, m'lord?"

"Aye, Gregory. Preferably an adder, but any serpent will do." The mage stirred one of the containers on the brazier closest to him. "When you unpacked from our journey to the North, where did you place the box the scholar from India gave to me?"

Silently, the mage's assistant crossed the room and reached high on a shelf, bringing down a small wooden crate and set it on the table. The mage nodded in satisfaction. "Very good, Gregory." He looked at the young man. "You'd best be off; you have much to do and but a short span of time to accomplish it."

Gregory looked as though he had been hit in the face with a fish, not hurt, but stunned and clearly wondering what was happening. "But, my lord mage, what are we doing?"

Grissom gave him a dark smile. "Magic, Gregory. Magic."


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I really don't own them but I sometimes I think they own me. I'm making no money from this fic.

In honor of the lovely Jen Bachand's Renaissance wedding.

I have a wonderful friend and beta in the amazing Kristen Elizabeth.

* * *

The mage pulled the hood of the huntsman further down over his brow as he and Gregory shuffled through the screens passage into the Hall. Grissom remained with the cluster of villagers that moved toward the back tables while Gregory moved to the right, clinging close to the wall as he made his way, unnoticed, towards the front of the room.

The Great Hall was as crowded as he had ever seen it. Men and women were packed into the room; extra long benches and tables from other parts of the castle had been brought in. The scent of roasting meats and savory vegetables wafted through the air as the servants continued to place dish after dish in front of the merry throngs. The musicians' lyre and flute played happy tunes that could barely be heard over the laughter and talk of those assembled around the tables. Although there was a roaring fire in the large fireplace, braziers were placed about the room for extra warmth.

The dais where the King and Queen's chairs usually sat contained instead a table facing the room. The King and Queen sat in the center and on the King's right, Lord Vincent and the Queen's left, Lady Sara.

The mage did not allow himself the luxury of letting his eyes linger upon his love. Instead, he forced himself to take stock of the room. The men that wore Lord Vincent's colors were clustered in small groups, enjoying the revelry and giving little regard to what went on around them. The King's guard stood at their posts half looking bored, the other half wistful, as though they wished they could lay down arms and join in the frivolity.

Moving slowly up the far wall, Grissom caught Gregory's eye and inclined his head. The assistant looked first left then right, then took a careful step toward the center of the room as the mage continued to edge forward. Grissom's eyes swept the crowd and caught sight of Maid Judith as she scurried toward the King's table. As his gaze touched her form, he nodded and Gregory stepped forward, sweeping the woman into his arms as he began to whirl in one of his madly capering dances. The maid squawked and the assembled company roared with laughter. Judith protested but Gregory held fast to the diminutive woman, dancing her in circles throughout the center of the room. The crowd hooted at the young man's antics and a few of the more unruly began calling for him to steal a kiss from the hapless maid.

"A kiss?" Gregory called to the crowd as he danced her close to the royals. "A kiss?" His eyes flicked to the mage and at his master's nod, he leaned in to the maid as if to steal a kiss. Maid Judith squealed in protest, the assembly bellowed with hilarity and the mage's young assistant dropped something into the brazier directly in front of the King. "My friends," he called to the crowd as he danced her away. "She will not favor me with a kiss!"

The diners watched, laughing, as he danced her towards the exit and none noticed the huntsman beginning to unfasten his bulky hood as he stepped towards the front of the room.

The explosive bang and resulting red smoke caused several screams and more than one to rise in panic even though the smoke cleared quickly to reveal the mage standing in front of the dais, resplendent in his formal cloak, grasping his staff, but bowing to his King.

For decades to come, the occupants of the Great Hall that night would tell of seeing the great mage appear out of nowhere and how the splitting of the air that allowed his presence into the room caused a sound loud as thunder and that the smell of sulfur smoke lingered for days after.

"My lord mage." The King's words held both anger and fear. "How have you come to be here in this way?"

"My liege, I cry your pardon." He dipped lower into his bow. "The matter is most urgent or I would not have appeared thus."

"Rise, m'lord mage." The King's voice was dry and dubious.

Grissom rose and took stock of the scene before him. The King regarded him wary anger, the Queen was wide eyed with her hand over her heart. Lord Vincent's face was a remote mask but his eyes were sharply focused on the mage. Lady Sara sat with her eyes averted, a slight flush blossoming on her cheeks. The previously disinterested royal guards were now at full attention, watching him with wary eyes. The banquet guests had gone from high revelry to frightened quiet and all eyes were riveted to the scene unfolding at the front of the room.

"What matters have such import, Lord Grissom, that you should startle the company so?" The monarch studied his mage hoping, it seemed, for some clue to his purpose at such a display.

"Your majesty had asked for a show of signs and portents to prove a happy marriage between Lord Vincent and the Lady Sara. In trying to coax such from the ethers, I have discovered nonesuch can be found." The mage used his staff to point to the lord at the King's right. "It has been revealed to me that only tragedy and ill fortune will result if the marriage takes place."

The King's nostrils flared in anger and he growled. "My lord mage, what signs and portents could possibly tell you such when this marriage is best for our kingdom?"

"Your majesty must understand, this marriage will neither serve the kingdom nor your best interest." Grissom spoke in heavy tones, one hand within his cloak. "The natural world cries out against it."

There was a shriek as a snake slithered from near the mage's feet towards the dias, pointed like an arrow towards Lord Vincent. The serpent raised its head, tasting the air with its tongue and a cry rang out. "Tis an adder!"

A collective gasp rose and all movement seemed suspended as the mage bent and grasped the snake behind the head. "The very serpents of the field are warning you against allowing this, my liege."

Low murmurings began at the tables and many eyes turned in fear to the head table. While an adder's bite was seldom fatal, it was painful and more than that, the presence of one was seen as an ill omen. The King was well known to despise all snakes, adders, in particular.

Lord Vincent stood so violently his chair tipped over with a crash. "Majesty, why do you tolerate this trickery from this charlatan?"

"Lord Vincent, the mage Grissom is not a charlatan, but has shown himself to be a wise and good servant of the crown." The King frowned heavily. "However, m'lord, I would seek an explanation for this behavior."

Grissom turned to the King with the snake still in his hand but monarch made an impatient gesture. "Away with that thing."

The Master of the Hunt came forward with a muslin sack and Grissom placed the snake within its confines. He clapped a hand on the huntsman's shoulder with a quiet, "Thank you, my friend."

The other man nodded and took the snake away.

Grissom turned back to the dais. "If the Lord Vincent claims the Sidle lands through marriage to the Lady Sara and the lady should meet an untimely end, what guarantees the lord's loyalty to your majesty? If a man will murder his wife, what keeps him loyal to the master that gave him his lands?"

Lord Vincent leaned over the table menacingly, resting his weight upon his fists. "You lie."

"Do I, m'lord?" And he brought forth the blood stained dagger from within his robes.

The King looked from Lord Vincent to the mage and the dagger and then back again. "Explain yourself, mage."

Grissom spoke to the King but never moved his eyes from the lord. "He imprisoned the Lady Deborah in her rooms then slit her throat with this knife and threw her body down the stairs."

"You lie," Vincent snarled again.

Coolly, the mage countered. "Do you deny this is your dagger? Is this not your family crest on this bloody knife?"

Lord Vincent looked as if he would leap o'er the table and rip the mage's head from his body. "Aye, tis my knife. But you have no proof that I was the one to wield it, nor even that it is her blood. You dishonor me."

Raising his eyebrows, Grissom responded. "Do I, m'lord? Did you not dishonor yourself when you murdered your young wife?"

Slamming his fist down on the table, Lord Vincent all but howled, "I demand satisfaction of you, m'lord!"

Smiling slightly, the mage inclined his head. "I will meet you on the field in the hour after dawn on the morrow."

The other man stood tall and stiff. "What weapons?"

Grissom shrugged. "Bring what weapons you will and I will bring what weapons I will and we will meet as equals."

Lord Vincent nodded as he stepped from the dais. He met Grissom nose to nose. "Enjoy this night, mage, for it is your last." So saying, he nodded to his men and they trooped from the room.

The silence in the room was such that the pop and crack of wood in the fireplace could be clearly heard. As the flames split a log and the pieces fell, the King spoke with quiet force.

"My lord mage, a word."

Grissom followed the King through to his ante chambers but not before he heard the occupants of the Great Hall burst into riotous speech.

As soon as they were in the King's rooms the monarch turned on him with a swirl of over-tunic. "Months! Months planning this. Negotiating, diplomacy, spying. All laid to waste by your conjurer's smoke and the show of a serpent." He slammed his fist on the table. "What madness possesses you to force him to defend his honor against your accusations?" He drew in a great shuddering breath. "And now for honor to be satisfied, one of you will be lost." He shook his head. "To what end, m'lord mage? To what end?"

Grissom bowed low, humbly. "I do regret, my King, that I could not forewarn you. But by the time I suspected things were afoul with Lord Vincent, your plans were already well in motion."

The King's shoulders slumped. "Are you sure he killed his wife?"

The mage spread his hands, "I can not be sure of anything unless I was there to see it. But there is one who witnessed it, and you yourself saw the knife, majesty."

The King made a dismissive gesture. "Men kill their wives every day; that doesn't make it treason. What makes you doubt his loyalty to the crown?" Wearily, he seated himself.

Pursing his lips, Grissom met the King's gaze. "When we attended him at camp, his show of strength and riches was impressive, meant as a statement of his might. While he did not challenge your majesty's plan, he was decisive with plans of his own. His emotions moved from pleasant to rage and back again at the turn of a feather. I do not know that he would commit treason, but I do not know that he would not." He put his fist over his heart in a gesture of loyalty and sincerity. "I do not believe the man can be trusted."

The King studied him intently for a moment. "It is the girl, is it not? The Lady Sara? She is why you challenged the man?"

"My liege…"

Holding up a staying hand, the King shook his head and snorted. "Are you mage or fool? Fool, methinks." He ran a ringed hand over his face and pushed back his hair. "Even if you defeat Lord Vincent, the girl will still have to be married to protect the lands."

Solemnly, Grissom gave a half bow. "I would offer for her hand, majesty."

The King sighed. "You have no army to defend the border and protect the lands."

"What if the lady were willing to give her lands back to the crown? Then your highness could decide who best to defend the lands, yourself or another lord, and not one necessarily available to wed."

Looking much as if he had just received a shock, the King gaped at him for long moments before asking, "Will she?"

The mage gave a half smile, "I believe she will." He inclined his head. "Additionally, if Lord Vincent is defeated, his lands revert to the crown as well, do they not?"

The King shook his head ruefully. "If you lose, you will die and the lady and the lands go to the lord. If you win, you will have to leave the castle; winning on the field will assure your life, but it will still be seen as defiance of the crown's will. Much as it pains me, I will have to banish you."

Grissom nodded, sagely. "I understand, majesty. And while you will be short a mage no matter which way it ends, at least if I should win, your lands will be much enriched."

The King snorted an ironic laugh. "Then I am forced to wish you good fortune, am I not?"

"I would not force it, majesty, but I do hope it."

Clapping him on the shoulder, the King spoke sincerely. "I do wish you luck, m'lord mage. If there is aught that can be done to help, you have but to ask."

Touched, Grissom nodded. "I thank you, majesty; I have preparations underway."

"Be careful Grissom. He is an accomplished soldier and if he is as unbalanced as you believe, well, he is all the more dangerous. You will need all your cunning."

"I have it at the ready, my liege." He smiled, albeit solemnly. "There was never a man that had better reason to fight and win than I."

* * *

A/N 2: I have deliberately vague about a specific time and place for this story. However, the "science" Grissom uses in this chapter and the next did come in to play at a specific time in history. The Chinese discovered gunpowder sometime in the 9th century, using it for fireworks and warfare. The first mentions of it in European history are mid 13th century. It did not come to common use for warfare until the 14th century.


	14. Chapter 14

For Jen and Steve

May your love story always be a fairytale,

May you live happily ever after.

* * *

With Gregory, Grissom worked into the night. He was bone weary; he had not slept the night before and knew he would have time this night for only an hour or two. He was loathe to take even that time away from his preparations, but he knew without some rest his fatigue would overwhelm him and all could be lost.

The Captain had spent an hour or more with him, alternating between lauding him for the ingenuity of the plan and berating him for attempting the more dangerous aspects of it. At length though, the man had agreed to his part and begrudgingly admitted a desire to learn certain formulas from the mage that would be helpful to him in later warfare. Then, after a hearty hug to his friend and a solemn arm clasp with the much surprised Gregory, Captain James had taken his leave, with the promise to meet them both on the field before dawn.

Grissom sighed to himself. All would be decided within the next hours; before midday of the morrow he would either have his lady and love to wife or he would be dead. Such a small space of time to determine so very much.

Finally he decided he could stand the smell of the compounds and mixtures no longer and that sleep, even for but a few hours, was an absolute necessity. He was ready to send Gregory to rest when the noise of a step on the stairs caused them both to look up, startled and, at least in the case of the mage, hopeful. Surely Lady Sara would not risk coming to the tower tonight? But, oh, that she would!

His visitor, though, was far more surprising than the Lady Sara.

Standing, he and Gregory bowed, nearly in unison. "Your majesty."

The Queen nodded to Grissom, but sent a charming and lovely smile to the younger. "Gregory, would you give me a moment with your master?"

"Of course, my Queen." The young man gave a deep and surprisingly elegant bow.

As his helper exited the room, the mage called, "Wait at the bottom of the stair, Gregory, that you may see the Queen safely to her chambers. Then you may find your own bed."

"Aye, m'lord," was thrown over the young man's shoulder and the mage and Queen listened to his step, retreating down the stairs.

They stood for a moment, simply looking at each other solemnly in the dim light of the torches and the fire. Then, the Queen gave a half smile. "You look as though I was not whom you expected."

He rubbed his red, burning eyes absently. "I expected no one. I was surprised at any visitor to the tower."

She gave a slight laugh, shaking her head. "Perhaps you had no expectations, but I do think you may have hoped for another." Gracefully, she seated herself on one of the benches, carefully draping the skirt of her surcoat around her. "The Lady Sara is under watch; the King felt that honor demanded it. Though, of course, I doubt she could have twitched a finger this night without coming under someone's eye."

He inclined his head. While he was not thrilled she was under watch, at least he knew if Lord Vincent had thought to exact revenge by harming the lady, she was guarded. "She asked you to come?"

The Queen shook her head. "Nay. Though I did tell her of my plans and she sent this to you."

She extended a piece of parchment and he took it from her hand. The parchment carried the light lavender scent he associated with Lady Sara and the unevenly distributed wax told him the note had been hastily sealed.

Knowingly, the Queen smiled. "I will leave you to her words anon. I desire but a moment of your time."

He attempted to keep his face impassive but felt himself flush slightly as he nodded.

The Queen studied him appraisingly for a moment before speaking. "Why did you challenge Lord Vincent?"

He had not expected anything so direct and found himself struggling to find a proper answer. "I believe…" He stopped and gathered his wits. "There was..." Frowning, he clenched his fist. "He had…"

Shaking her head, she waved a hand impatiently. "Do not try to find pretty words nor attempt to shield me from what you believe to be true. Woman I may be, but a fool I am not."

He could not help the smile that touched his lips at her words. Because the King was such a large, looming presence, many forgot the Queen was a force to be reckoned with all on her own. "Any man who treated you as such would himself be a fool, majesty."

She snorted, inelegantly. "You are a wise man to know that, m'lord. Most men see a woman and do not see heart and mind, but only a possession to be grasped or a body to be conquered."

Nodding his head, Grissom replied. "It pains me, but I fear you are right, majesty." He exhaled noisily. "I believe Lord Vincent is more such a man than most."

"You truly believe he murdered his wife?" She smoothed a hand idly over her purple surcoat and he noticed for the first time it was from the silk he had gifted her.

"I do, majesty. There was a witness and even were there not, every instinct I possess , every bit of knowledge I have of the inner workings of men's minds tells me he not only killed her, but his nephew, as well." He shrugged. "Whether they were lovers, I know not. But even if they were, he is responsible for their deaths and must be brought to pay under the King's law."

She cocked a brow at him. "And you would be judge and executioner, m'lord?"

"Nay, my Queen." He spread his hands in an expansive gesture. "I do not seek to kill the man; I strive to win our engagement without taking his life or losing mine. I seek only to defeat and dishonor, not to murder."

"To what end, m'lord? Were he betrothed to another lady, would you be so keen to fight?" She raised her hand when he would have spoken. "If you would, I think I would rather not know it. I would believe that you love the Lady Sara with your whole heart."

"I do, I swear it." He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I would not pretend that had it been any other lady set to marry the man, I would have looked at him with as critical of an eye nor investigated him as thoroughly. But I would like to think, even if he were to wed someone I did not love, I would still have sought to bring him to justice." He sighed. "But, yes, that exposing him or defeating him will prevent him from marrying Lady Sara, that is where my heart lay."

This time, it was the Queen who shook her head. "Why did you not offer for her before the match was made? I would have stood with you to convince the King."

The corners of his mouth lifted in an ironic, but beautiful smile. "Because I am a fool?"

She laughed outright. "Indeed, Lord Fool." Her eyes traveled round the room at the pots, bowls, vials, braziers, casks. "You have weapons?"

"I will use the weapons of my art, my lady."

"What if that is not enough? Lord Vincent is known to be fierce on the field." She looked both exasperated and worried.

Again, Grissom smiled. "He will never have faced such as this."

"Still…" The Queen sighed and reaching into her belt, she slid out a knife and extended it to him. It was small and cunning, the blade viciously sharp. "I would that you carry this. In my name, for my sake."

Carefully he accepted the weapon. "I thank you, majesty."

With regal bearing that came from more than her title, the Queen rose. "You may thank me by defeating the man. I would that my niece has the love and happiness never afforded to my sister." Briefly, she touched his hand. "Rest well tonight. Fight well on the morrow."

He bowed deeply as she slipped from the room.

He waited for her footsteps to fade before he broke the seal on the parchment, carefully unfolding it as though it was a part of her and he could yet woo and caress her through the thin paper.

_My lord…_

_The Captain of the Guard spoke with me this evening and has told me why you chose this course. He believes you to be both inspired and mad. _

_Though I must fear for your life, I trust in your knowledge and skills._

_No matter the outcome, my whole heart is yours, everyday of my life._

_All of my love,_

_Sara _

Smiling, he read the note again, and then he tucked it within his tunic, over his heart, and went into his sleeping chamber. His bed still smelled of Lady Sara and the lingering musk of their time together. Inhaling deeply, he slept.

****

As if the sun were reluctant to leave her bed, dawn was slow to come. Yet, when the sky had begun to lighten, the still figure of the mage could be seen standing with his staff, unmoving on the field. None, even those that had been at the field during the night, could say when he had arrived. Sometime before dawn, he had slipped between the pools of light from the fires that ringed the field and positioned himself so that as the sun revealed itself, he was revealed as well.

The mists hung low over the tournament field in the first grey light of the early morn as crowds slowly gathered and the mage stood, silent.

The men of the garrison and some of the villagers had cut the field in preparation for the faire. Jousting was a favorite event amongst the crowds and the mêlée was good training for war in times of peace. The King was more than willing to let the men of the garrison show their skills at every opportunity. But the field had not seen so earnest and important a contest since it had first been marked off when the King had come to the throne over twenty years before.

The people, those from the village and the castle, hummed with the excitement of the contest, but the mage continued to stand still and silent.

After the sun crested the horizon, the hammer of hooves and the jangle of armor could be heard approaching. Lord Vincent and four of his men road into view, the Lord's standard snapping in the morning air. While his men wore mail, the Lord wore full battle armor, polished and shining in the morning light. Vincent rode to the end of the field and stayed atop his horse, while his men rode to the side and dismounted.

Lord Vincent raised the visor on his helmet. "What manner of trickery is this, mage?"

Grissom continued to lean on his staff. "There is no trickery, my lord. I am here, not ether nor spirit, just a man prepared to fight."

"I will not be dishonored by deception nor will I be made fool of by magician's tricks." The armored man's voice was a menacing snarl, filled with vitriol. "Where is your horse? Your armor? Your weapons?"

"My horse is still stabled and I have no doubt he is quite put out that I have not appeared with his morning apple." There was a titter from the assembled crowd. "As for armor, I have none. And my weapons have been provided to me by nature and my fellows' work in the natural philosophies." He shrugged. "And I have a small knife." He pointed to the fires along the perimeter of the field. "Fire and charcoal, saltpetre and sulfur, all gifts of the earth. That is all I need to defeat you, m'lord."

Lord Vincent's horse stamped and snorted, causing bridle and armor to ring out. The man atop the horse clenched his teeth, but spoke not as the royal party approached the field. The assembly murmured as the King and Queen, along with a pale Lady Sara, took to the raised platform that flew the King's colors.

The King saw the Queen seated, then drew to the edge of the platform. He looked at Grissom much as if he doubted his sanity, but then made an impassive mask of his face. "My lords, are you prepared to fight?"

Lord Vincent's voice rang out, each word a bite on the air. "To the death."

"For honor, my liege. For justice for the Lady Deborah." Grissom bowed to the dais. "And the hand of the Lady Sara."

The last set up a flurry of voices from within the crowd and brought forth a cry of anger from Lord Vincent.

The King nodded. "Prepare yourselves then."

The lord circled his horse and one of his men stepped forward to hand him his lance and he positioned himself at his end of the field once again. "I will slit you open and spill your entrails on this ground, Grissom. And I hope that your spirit delays its departure from this earth long enough to see me take the Lady Sara to my bed as my wife."

"My lord, cease your useless talking." The mage spread his arms wide. "Come meet your end."

The lord slammed his visor into place and spurred his horse into a gallop. Grissom stood his ground with horse and rider bearing down on him, clumps of grass and dirt flying up from the horse hooves. At the last possible moment, he feinted right, diving to the ground. The horse thundered by.

By the time Lord Vincent had slowed the horse and turned the beast for another drive, the mage was standing where he had been before. The lord urged his horse forward, obviously preparing for another dodge from Grissom. Leaning over the horse's neck, he drove on, holding tightly to the lance, ready to guide the horse in whichever direct the mage shifted. Horse and rider were upon him when, instead of feinting and diving for the side, he took two steps to the right, extending his staff to meet the lance and a cry of alarm rose up from the spectators.

The crack of wood on wood sounded like thunder in a summer storm and the concussion ran all the way up the mage's arm, causing his teeth to rattle and his jaw to ache. Still, when he looked he was gratified to see not only had his staff split with the impact, so had Lord Vincent's lance, the greater part of it lying, splintered, on the ground.

The lord did not reach the end of the field before circling around. He studied the broken lance in his hand for a moment, then threw it to the ground in disgust and drew his broadsword from its sheath, pushing his horse back towards Grissom.

The mage, arm tense and throbbing from the impact of staff and lance, staggered towards the fire furthest from the assemblage as the galloping horse and enraged rider approached. Reaching into his robe he withdrew several items that looked to be balls of black wax and threw them into the fire, backing quickly away, covering his head with his arms just as the fire exploded outward in a booming blast, raining sparks and flaming pieces of wood over the field.

Lord Vincent's horse reared high and the man fought to stay seated, but another, smaller, blast caused the horse to rise further and the lord to fall to the ground with a great crashing thud. The horse, wild eyed and terrified, ran from the field, but the rider did not move.

Shouts arose from the small group of Lord Vincent's men as they drew weapons and appeared ready to take the field, only to find themselves suddenly surrounded by the swords of the Captain of the Guard and several of the men from the garrison.

Grissom, face blackened with soot and sweating, limped to the center of the field, never taking his eyes from the now dirty and dented armor in front of him. Breath heaving, he watched as the man, at last, sat up.

Reaching for a still flaming piece of wood scattered onto the field by the explosion, the mage called out. "Are you hurt, Lord Vincent? Do you concede defeat?"

Vincent removed his helmet and threw it aside with a decisive clank. "As long as I breathe there is no defeat in me, m'lord mage. I will claim my victory; I always do."

"And how did the slitting Lady Deborah's throat and the throat of your nephew afford you victory, my lord?"

"I am here and they are not." He struggled to his feet. "Therefore, I am victorious. Just as I will be victorious when you lie dead upon this field."

Again, Grissom spread his arms wide, still holding the flaming wood. "Come then; claim your victory."

The mage watched carefully as the man staggered towards him, his eyes close to the ground, watching the heavy steps of his rival. When he was but fifteen feet from him, Grissom, smiling, touched the fire in his hand to the ground and a flame sparked, ignited and ran out from both directions to form a circle of fire around them.

Exclamations of fear and awe arose from the crowd as the flames danced around the men.

"Sorcerers tricks," the lord spat.

Grissom shook his head. "I was given the formula by a mage from the Far East. Tis not magic, but warfare, my lord."

Baring his teeth in a frightful smile, Lord Vincent nodded. "Warfare I know." He threw himself at the mage and both of them tumbled to the ground.

The initial shock of the weight of the fully armored man pinning him passed and Grissom attempted to breathe. The wind had been knocked from him when Lord Vincent landed on him and the mass of man and armor now pressing on his chest made it near impossible to catch his breath. The smoke that hung in the air from the explosions and the fire surrounding them seemed intent on robbing him of air, as well.

He attempted to push the armored man off but the combined weight of man and metal was too much in his winded state. After a bit, he was able to roll slightly and was nearly able to unseat the lord, when the man gave a roar of rage and wrestled him back down, pinning him in place with the weight of his legs.

"Grissom!" The cry came from outside the circle of fire, but he recognized the voice, heard the pain and panic in the call of his name by his love.

Again, he tried to breathe and was able to bring some air into his lungs, but then the armored man was pummeling his arms and sides as he kept him pinned. The mage gasped out the little bit of air he had been able to inhale, wincing at the pain of the other man's blows.

"Grissom!" It was a shriek of agony and despair, such that he had never heard. He wondered for a moment who had hurt her and how he could get to her to protect her. Then he understood…she was crying out at his own pain. And as he would have done anything to save her from any wound, he understood he must save her from this pain as well.

Summoning every bit of will and strength, thinking only of Sara, he gasped in a breath and pushed against the heavy weight of Lord Vincent and his armor. He knew well the armor would work against the lord if Grissom could get the smallest amount of leverage or momentum.

Fortune, so often fickle, chose that moment to smile upon the mage. As his opponent raised his arms to deliver another blow when the mage pushed with all of his might and Grissom was able to roll him relatively easily. Finally able to breathe, he centered his weight on the struggling mass of metal beneath him and pinned the man's arms with his knees.

Reaching into his cloak he brought forth the knife the Queen had given him, laying the wicked point against the throat of the suddenly still man beneath him. Still wheezing from having the air knocked from him, the mage panted, "Will you surrender?"

Lord Vincent sneered. "Trying to keep your hands free of blood, my lord mage? There is honor in the kill as well."

Chest heaving, knife still at the lord's neck, Grissom shook his head. "Not for me." Again, his hand disappeared within the folds of his robe. "Again, I ask, will you surrender?"

"Nay, I will not." He shook his head, causing the point of the knife to pierce the skin shallowly and a drop of blood, redder than rubies, beaded on the skin of his neck. "You will have to kill me. Your hands can not remain clean forever. Slit my throat."

"As you slit your wife's?" His voice was coolly inquiring.

"I gave her all! Treated her as a princess, gave her all she could have asked for." Vincent's words dripped bitterness. "But she besmirched it all and spread herself for that young whelp. I would not let my honor, my good name be sullied by that harlot that posed as my wife." His nostrils flared as his hot breath blew out. "Will you kill me now, mage?"

The circle of fire around them had burned low, leaving mainly burned and blackened grass, with only the occasional flame still dancing. The crowd was silent, nearly still as they watched the life and death play on the field.

The mage opened his hand to reveal a long, thin piece of metal. "See you this?"

"A sewing needle?" Lord Vincent scoffed.

"Nay. Well, a needle of sorts, but not for sewing." He held the metal by the dull end and examined the sharp point with keen interest, never moving the knife in his other hand from the man's neck. "Twas a gift from a scholar of India. He had acquired it from the peoples of the jungle."

Vincent's eyes widened and he began to struggle again, despite the knife at his throat. Grissom increased the pressure of his knees on the man's arms, but continued speaking, almost conversationally. "Tis used as a dart blown from a cylinder from afar for the hunting of game. This close, of course, there is no need to use it as a dart." He looked down into the terrified eyes of Lord Vincent and continued to explain. "They dip the needle in extracts from the curare plant, then expel it from the cylinder, aiming for their game, trying to get the point as close to the neck as possible." So saying, he moved his hand so that instead of the knife threatening his opponent's neck, the dart poised against the skin. "The poison from the curare causes a paralysis, the lungs can no longer move, the animal ceases to breathe and dies from lack of air."

The lord made to sit up but the mage's hand was faster and the needle sank deeply into the man's neck. His eyes widened and he faltered, his body flailing for a moment before he was still. His eyes closed slowly, then reopened as the mage removed the needle and spoke softly. "Fortune favors you my lord, that I had no curare, only belladonna, feverfew and valerian. You will but sleep and awaken in the King's prison on the morrow." He watched as the man's eyes close again and stayed closed.

Rolling off his opponent and struggling to his feet, he heard the cheer go up from the crowd. He lifted a hand to wave and wobbled, nearly falling. Then Lady Sara was there, slipping his arm across her slender shoulders, whispering, "Oh, love, lean on me."

Gregory took his other side, and the three of them moved off the field together.

The King stood at the edge of the platform and shook his head at Grissom. "A most unusual battle, my lord mage." He studied him with a soldier's critical eye. "Return to your tower and rest this day. Tomorrow is enough time for you to leave us." He turned to the other end of the field. "Captain James."

"Majesty?" The man came at a trot.

"See the mage to his tower. Stay with the Lady as she sees to his care." He looked severely first at his niece, then Captain James. "She is to return, under your watch, to her chambers by nightfall."

The mage knew well the King merely pretended not to see the flush on the lady's cheeks, or the way Grissom pulled her closer to his side.

****

Arawn stood, saddled and ready, at the gate to the keep, his reins tied loosely to the side of the wagon.

Gregory had loaded the wagon before his fast was broken and now sat atop the seat with the reins in his hands, seemingly impatient for the journey to begin. Cigva now had a young companion to help her pull the load, the mage having bartered another cart horse from the stable master. The King had gifted the Lady Sara with a beautiful white mare, Rhiannon, now tied to the back of the wagon. Arawn kept turning his head to look at the mare, arching his neck and preening, but the lady horse was either oblivious or determined to ignore him.

Gregory leaned down from his perch and spoke to the horse. "She'll have naught to do with you until you prove yourself worthy."

The black horse snorted and shook his head.

"Suit your own mind." The young man shrugged. "But a little humility wouldn't go amiss."

Arawn looked as though he might be considering whether a bite was warranted in response to the young man's love counsel, but the small group of laughing people coming through the gate from the castle drew his attention.

"You must write and let us know how you fare in the North, Sara." The Queen enfolded her niece within her arms.

"I will." Lady Sara returned the embrace with affection, then drew back to look into her aunt's face. "Thank you, my Queen. For all you have given me, for all you have done for me. My words will never be adequate to express the gratitude within my heart."

The Queen wiped a tear away with a trembling hand and gave a tremulous smile. "You have been as one of my own children. I will miss you." She pressed her cheek to the young woman's. "Be well, be happy."

The King and the mage exchanged a glance over the heads of the women, smiling and shaking their heads. Grissom's face was scratched and singed from the previous day's challenge but no wound or burn could hide the joy of his smile.

Grissom moved forward to lay a hand on Lady Sara's shoulder, but spoke instead to the Queen. "Majesty, I serve at your pleasure, but chivalry bids me protest. I entreat you not to cause my wife to weep!"

The Queen pursed her lips at Grissom in an expression so similar to that of her niece, he blinked. "She has been your wife but an hour, my lord mage, but she has been my niece the whole of her life." She cocked her head. "And may I charge you that this be the last time she weeps?"

Grissom bowed slowly, still somewhat stiff from the fight the day before. "I can not promise she will never weep again; but if there is aught I can do to prevent it, I will, I swear."

"Well, then, with that I must be content." So saying, the Queen pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek.

The King's brow furrowed at the small salute, but he did not comment as his wife stepped back. Instead, he clapped the mage on the shoulder. "You will be sorely missed, Grissom."

The mage inclined his head. "Majesty, I will send Gregory to you after a year of training. He has a quick mind and knows much of the natural philosophies. I believe, given time, he will serve as an exemplary mage for you, my King."

The King nodded, but his hand squeezed Grissom's shoulder. "I have no doubt the lad will do well. Though I do doubt any other could serve as well as you." He smiled. "I will miss the man as much as I miss the mage, methinks. You have not always been easy, but you have always had a true heart. I thank you for your service and your friendship."

Dumbfounded at such high praise from the monarch, Grissom spread his hands. "Majesty, I thank you. I know not…"

The King waved a hand at him. "No need for thanks in telling the truth. Please, just continue to be that same man as a husband you have been as a mage and treat the girl well. She has not had an easy life and she is dear to my own dear wife."

"I will do my best, majesty." Grissom gave a slight bow.

"See that you do." But he smiled as he turned to the again embracing women and enveloped both of them in his arms.

As the royal couple bid their niece farewell, the Captain of the Guard approached the mage. "The King is correct. You will be missed."

Grissom turned his clear blue gaze on the older man. "All that I hold dear travels with me except you, my friend." He clasped James' arm. "I can not thank you enough for your help these last days. But more than that, I thank you for your friendship these years. I have ne'er known a truer friend nor a better man."

A smile lit the craggy face of the soldier. "I would say the same of you, my lord. I am honored to have called you friend."

The mage placed his other hand on the Captain's shoulder. "Should you ever leave the King's service, please know you have a place with us in the North."

"A few years hence, I think I will have at last had enough of this soldier's life. Then, my friend, you will be hard pressed to keep me at bay."

"Good." The two friends embraced heartily, bidding each other farewell for a time.

Finally ready to depart, the mage called, "My lady wife?"

Laughing, the Lady Sara gave one last kiss to the cheek of her aunt and uncle and came forward. "My lord husband?"

His smile was wide enough to hurt his cheeks and it was all he could do not to laugh aloud. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, my lord." She put her hand on his arm. "I am ready for our life together to begin."

"Very well." He nodded and lifted her on to Arawn's back and swung himself up after. He turned to Gregory. "Head North along the forest road. With the extra horse, the wagon should travel faster than it did on our previous journey."

"Aye, m'lord." The young man looked puzzled. "You and the lady will travel alone?"

Grissom shook his head, holding the restless Arawn in place and his wife close against him. "We will catch up with you later in the day." Clicking to the horse, he shook the reins and he added as the horse started forward, "There is a meadow on the other side of the village I have promised to show my lady."

***

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a very large cottage or a very small manse, in the lands of the North, so close to the sea that the cries of the gulls could easily be heard from the summer garden, where the waves crashing against the rocks provided a lullaby at night, a mage brought his lady, love and wife.

And they lived happily ever after.

Fin.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am making no money from the writing of this fic. It was written out of love for the characters, as a gift for an amazing person about to become a bride and the desire to give the characters what they deserve, a happily ever after.

A/N: I want to thank each and every person who has reviewed. I have tried to answer as many as I could, but I know I missed some. Thank you all so much for your kind words and enthusiasm for this story.

This story could never have been written without the help and support of Kristen Elizabeth. She encouraged me when I first had the thought, cheered me through every scene, corrected my grammar, argued with me about plot points and etymology of certain words and calmed me down when I was freaking out, convinced I had blown it. If I didn't, it's largely due to her. If I did, well, I suck, but that's not her fault.


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